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THE  SOUTHERNER 


BOOKS    BY    MR.    D1XON 

The  Southerner 
The  Sins  of  the  Father 
The  Leopard's  Spots 
The  Clansman 
The  Traitor 


The  One  Woman 

Comrades 

The  Root  of  Evil 


The  Life  Worth  Living 


176 


'From  a  thousand  throats  rose  the  cry:  'Lee  to  the 
rear ! ' !  [Page  455] 


THE  SOUTHERNER 

A   ROMANCE  OF 
THE  REAL  LINCOLN 


BY 

THOMAS  DIXON 


"Have  you  never  realized  it,  my  friends,  that  Lincoln, 
though  grafted  on  the  West,  is  essentially,  in  personnel  and 
character,  a  Southern  contribution?"  —  WALT  WHITMAN. 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

J.    N.    MARCHAND 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
D.    APPLETON    AND     COMPANY 

1913 


50 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  BY 
THOMAS    DIXON 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into  all 
foreign  languages,  including  the  Scandinavian 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


DEDICATED   TO 

OUR  FIRST  SOUTHERN-BORN  PRESIDENT  SINCE 
LINCOLN,  MY  FRIEND  AND  COLLEGEMATE 

WOODROW  WILSON 


267397 


TO  THE  READER 

Lest  my  readers  should  feel  that  certain  incidents 
of  this  story  are  startling  and  improbable,  I  wish  to 
say  that  every  word  in  it  relating  to  the  issues  of  our 
national  life  has  been  drawn  from  authentic  records 
in  my  possession.  Nor  have  I  at  any  point  taken  a 
liberty  with  an  essential  detail  in  historical  scenes. 

THOMAS  DIXON* 


CONTENTS 


PROLOGUE 

CHAPTER 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 


PAGE 

3 


THE  MAN  op  THE  HOUR     ....  93 

JANGLING  VOICES      .      .      .      .      .      .  121 

IN  BETTY'S  GARDEN       .      .      .      .      .  129 

A  PAIR  OF   YOUNG   EYES    ....  135 

THE  FIRST  SHOT       ;      .      .      .    '•**-.  140 

THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS     .      .      .  145 

LOVE  AND  DUTY       »'?«  -  *      .      .      .  153 

THE  TRIAL  BY  FIRE 162 

VICTORY  IN  DEFEAT 180 

THE  AWAKENING 187 

THE  MAN  ON  HORSEBACK   ....  195 

LOVE  AND  PRIDE        ...      .      .      .  205 

THE  SPIRES  OF  RICHMOND  ....  217 

THE  RETREAT 241 

TANGLED  THREADS 246 

THE   CHALLENGE 259 

THE  DAY'S  WORK 276 

DIPLOMACY 293 

THE  REBEL 302 

THE  INSULT 319 

THE  BLOODIEST  DAY 323 

BENEATH  THE  SKIN 328 

THE  USURPER      . 333 

THE  CONSPIRACY 341 

THE  TUG  OF  WAR 348 

THE  REST  HOUR       .      .  373 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVII.  DEEPENING  SHADOWS 381 

XXVIII.  THE  MOONLIT  RIVER 409 

XXIX.  THE  PANIC 418 

XXX.  SUNSHINE  AND  STORM 431 

XXXI.  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 447 

XXXII.  THE  WHIRLWIND       .      .".,..,,;»....*.  451 

XXXIII.  THE  BROTHERS  MEET     .      .      .      .      .  466 

XXXIV.  LOVE'S  PLEDGE    .      .      «      .      .      ,      .  477 

XXXV.  THE  DARKEST  HOUR      .      .      .      .      «  483 

XXXVI.  THE  ASSASSIN      .'  ^V      r -.-/».      .      ..  /.  506 

XXXVII.  MR.  DAVIS  SPEAKS   .      .  ,  .      ,      .      .  519 

XXXVIII.  THE  STOLEN  MARCH      .....  525 

XXXIX.  VICTORY 533 

XL.  WITH  MALICE  TOWARD  NONE  .      .      .:  539 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAGE 

"From   a   thousand   throats   rose   the   cry:    4Lee 
to   the   rear'/"    ....          Frontispiece. 

"'Be    a    man    among    men,    for    your    mother's 

sake—'" .     .     88 

"'Good-bye—Ned!'   she   breathed   softly."    .       .     132 

"Betty  glanced  at  the  stolid,  set   face  and   firm 

lips." 254 

"'You're   a  brave   man,   Ned   Vaughan.'" .     .     .     314 

"Waving  his   plumed  hat  ...  he   put  himself  at 

the  head  of  his  troops  and  charged."     .     400 


LEADING  CHARACTERS  OF  THE  STORY 

1809-1818 
Scene:    A  Cabin  in  the  Woods 

TOM,  A  Man  of  the  Forest  and  Stream. 
NANCY,  The  Woman  Who  Saw  a  Vision. 
THE  BOY,  Her  Son. 
DENNIS,   His   Cousin. 
BONEY,  A  Fighting  Coon  Dog. 

1861-1865 
Scene:    The  White  House 

SENATOR  GILBERT  WINTER,  The  Radical  Leader. 

BETTY,  His  Daughter. 

JOHN  VAUGHAN,  A  Union  Soldier. 

NED  VAUGHAN,  His  Brother,  a  Rebel. 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  The  President. 

MRS.  LINCOLN,  His  Wife. 

PHOSBE,  Her  Maid. 

JULIUS  CAESAR  THORNTON,  Who  Was  Volunteered. 

COLONEL   NICOLAY,  The  President's  Secretary. 

MAJOR  JOHN  HAY,  Assistant  Secretary. 

WILLIAM   TECUMSEH   SHERMAN,  Who  Stole  a  March.  "*• 

GEORGE  B.  MCCLELLAN,  The  Man  on  Horseback. 

ROBERT  E.  LEE,  The  Southern  Commander. 


THE  SOUTHERNER 
prologue 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


PROLOGUE 


Tom  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  looked  into  his 
wife's  face  with  a  smile: 

"Nancy,  it's  a  meal  fit  for  a  king!" 

The  supper  over,  he  smoked  his  pipe  before  the 
cabin  fire  of  blazing  logs,  while  she  cleared  the  wooden 
dishes.  He  watched  her  get  the  paper,  goose-quill 
pen  and  ink  as  a  prisoner  sees  the  scaffold  building 
for  his  execution. 

"Now  we're  all  ready,"  she  said  cheerfully. 

The  man  laid  his  pipe  down  with  a  helpless  look. 
A  brief  respite  flashed  through  his  mind.  Maybe  he 
could  sidestep  the  lessons  before  she  pinned  him  down. 

"Lord,  Nancy,  I  forgot  my  gun.  I  must  grease  her 
right  away,"  he  cried. 

He  rose  with  a  quick  decisive  movement  and  took 
his  rifle  from  the  rack.  She  knew  it  was  useless  to 
protest  and  let  him  have  his  way. 

Over  every  inch  of  its  heavy  barrel  and  polished 
walnut  stock  he  rubbed  a  piece  of  greased  linen  with 
loving  care,  drew  back  the  flint-lock  and  greased 

3 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


carefully  every  nook  and  turn  of  its  mechanism,  lifted 
the  gun  finally  to  his  shoulder  and  drew  an  imaginary 
bead  on  the  head  of  a  turkey  gobbler  two  hundred 
yards  away.  A  glowing  coal  of  hickory  wood  in  the 
fire  served  for  his  game. 

He  lowered  the  gun  and  held  it  before  him  with 
pride : 

"Nancy,  she's  the  dandiest  piece  o'  iron  that  wuz 
ever  twisted  inter  the  shape  of  a  weepon.  Old  'Speak 
easy'  's  her  name !  She's  got  the  softest  voice  that 
ever  whispered  death  to  a  varmint  or  an  Injun — hit 
ain't  much  louder'n  the  crack  of  a  whip,  but,  man 
alive,  when  she  talks  she  says  somethin'.  'Kerpeow!' 
she  whispers  soft  an'  low!  She's  got  a  voice  like 
yourn,  Nancy — kinder  sighs  when  she  speaks " 

"Well,"  the  wife  broke  in  with  a  shake  of  her  dark 
head,  "has  mother's  little  boy  played  long  enough  with 
his  toy?" 

"I  reckon  so,"  Tom  laughed. 

"Then  it's  time  for  school."  She  gently  took  the 
rifle  from  his  hands,  placed  it  on  the  buck  horns  and 
took  her  seat  at  the  table. 

The  man  looked  ruefully  at  the  stool,  suddenly 
straightened  his  massive  frame,  lifted  his  hand  above 
his  head  and  cocked  his  eye  inquiringly: 

"May  I  git  er  drink  er  water  fust?" 

The   teacher  laughed  in  spite   of  herself: 

"Yes,  you  big  lubber,  and  hurry  up." 

Tom  seized  the  water  bucket  and  started  for  the 
door. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  cried  in  dismay. 

"I'll    jest    run    down    to    the    spring    fer    a    fresh 

bucket " 

4 


PROLOGUE 


"O  Tom!"  she  exclaimed. 

"I'll  be  right  back  in  a  minute,  Honey,"  he  pro 
tested  softly.  "Hit's  goin'  ter  be  powerful  hot — I'll 
need  a  whole  bucket  time  I'm  through." 

Before  she  could  answer  he  was  gone. 

He  managed  to  stay  nearly  a  half  hour.  She  put 
the  baby  to  sleep  and  sat  waiting  with  her  pensive 
young  eyes  gazing  at  the  leaping  flames.  She  heard 
him  stop  and  answer  the  call  of  an  owl  from  the 
woods.  A  whip-poor-will  was  softly  singing  from  the 
bushes  nearby.  He  stopped  to  call  him  also,  and  then 
found  an  excuse  to  linger  ten  minutes  more  fooling 
with  his  dogs. 

The  laggard  came  at  last  and  dropped  on  his  stool 
by  her  side.  He  sat  for  five  minutes  staring  help 
lessly  at  the  copy  she  had  set.  Big  beads  of  perspira 
tion  stood  on  his  forehead  when  he  took  the  pen.  He 
held  it  awkwardly  and  timidly  as  if  it  were  a  live  rep 
tile.  She  took  his  clumsy  hand  in  hers  and  showed 
him  how  to  hold  it. 

"My,  but  yo'  hand's  soft  an'  sweet,  Nancy, — jest 
lemme  hold  that  a  while " 

She  rapped  his  knuckles. 

"All  right,  teacher,  I'll  be  good,"  he  protested,  and 
bent  his  huge  shoulders  low  over  his  task.  He  bore 
so  hard  on  the  frail  quill  pen  the  ink  ran  in  a  big  blot. 

"Not  so  hard,  Tom !"  she  cried. 

"But  I  got  so  much  strenk  in  my  right  arm  I  jist 
can't  hold  it  back." 

"You  must  try  again." 

He  tried  again  and  made  a  heavy  tremulous  line. 
His  arm  moved  at  a  snail's  gait  and  wobbled  fright 
fully. 

5 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Make  the  line  quicker,"  she  urged  encouragingly. 
"Begin  at  the  top  and  come  down " 

"Here,  you  show  me  how!" 

She  took  his  rough  hand  quietly  in  hers,  and  guided 
it  swiftly  from  right  to  left  in  straight  smooth  lines 
until  a  dozen  were  made,  when  he  suddenly  drew  her 
close,  kissed  her  lips,  and  held  the  slender  fingers  in  a 
grip  of  iron.  She  lay  still  in  his  embrace  for  a  moment, 
released  herself  and  turned  from  him  with  a  sigh.  He 
drew  her  quickly  to  the  light  of  the  fire  and  saw  the 
unshed  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"What's  the  use  ter  worry,  Nancy  gal?"  he  said. 
"Give  it  up  ez  a  bad  job.  I  wouldn't  fool  with  no 
sech  scholar  ef  I  wuz  you.  Ye  can't  teach  an  old  dog 
new  tricks " 

"I  won't  give  up !"  she  cried  with  sudden  energy. 
"I  can  teach  you  and  I  will.  I  won't  give  up  and  be 
nobody.  O  Tom,  you  promised  me  before  we  were 
married  to  let  me  teach  you — didn't  you  promise?" 

"Yes,  Honey,  I  did "  he  paused  and  his  fine 

teeth  gleamed  through  the  black  beard — "but  ye  know 
a  feller'll  promise  any  thing  ter  git  his  gal " 

"Didn't  you  mean  to  keep  your  word?"  She  broke 
in  sharply. 

"Of  course  I  did,  Nancy,  I  never  wuz  more  earnest 
in  my  life — 'ceptin  when  I  got  religion.  But  I  had 
no  idee  larnin'  come  so  hard.  I'd  ruther  fight  Injuns 
an'  wil'  cats  or  rob  a  bee  tree  any  day  than  ter  tackle 
them  pot  hooks  you're  sickin'  after  me " 

"Well,  I  won't  give  up,"  she  interrupted  impatiently, 
"and  you'd  just  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  stick 
to  it.  You  can  do  what  other  men  have  done.  You're 
good,  honest  and  true,  you're  kindhearted  and  popular. 

6 


PROLOGUE 

They've  already  made  you  the  road  supervisor  of  this 
township.  Learn  to  read  and  write  and  you  can  make 
a  good  speech  and  go  to  the  Legislature." 

"Ah,  Nancy,  what  do  ye  want  me  ter  do  that  fur, 
anyhow,  gal?     I'd  be  the  happiest  man  in  the  world 
right  here  in  this  cabin  by  the  woods  ef  you'd  jest  be 
happy  with  me.     Can't  ye  quit  hankerin'  after  them   - 
things,  Honey?" 

She  shook  her  dark  head  firmly. 

"You  know,  Nancy,  we  wuz  neighbors  to  Dan'l 
Boone.  We  thought  he  wuz  about  the  biggest  man 
that  ever  lived.  Somehow  the  love  o'  the  woods  an' 
fields  is  always  singin'  in  my  heart.  Them  still  shinin' 
stars  up  in  the  sky  out  thar  to-night  keep  a  callin' 
me.  I  could  hear  the  music  o'  my  hounds  in  my  soul 
ez  I  stood  by  the  spring  a  while  ago.  Ye  know  what 
scares  me  most  ter  death  sometimes,  gal?"  He  paused 
and  looked  into  her  eyes  intently. 

"No,  what?"  she  asked. 

"That  you'll  make  a  carpenter  outen  me  yit  ef  I 
don't  mind." 

Again  a  smile  broke  through  the  cloud  in  her  eyes: 
"I  don't  think  there's  much  danger  of  that,  Tom " 

"Yes  ther  is,  too,"  he  laughed.  "Ye  see,  I  love  you 
so  and  try  ter  make  ye  happy,  an'  ef  there  wuz  ter 
come  er  time  that  there  wuz  plenty  o'  work  an'  real 
money  in  it,  I'd  stick  to  it  jist  ter  please  you,  an'  be 
a  lost  an'  ruined  soul!  Yessir,  they'd  carve  on  my 
headstone  jest  one  line: 

-AND    DIED    A    JACKLEG    CARPENTER. 

"Wouldn't  that  be  awful?" 

7 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  momentary  smile  on  the  woman's  sensitive  face 
faded  into  a  look  of  pain.  She  tried  to  make  a  good- 
natured  reply,  but  her  lips  refused  to  move. 

The  man  pressed  on  eagerly : 

"O  Nancy,  why  can't  ye  be  happy  here?  We've  a 
snug  little  cabin  nest,  we've  enough  to  eat  and  enough 
to  wear.  The  baby's  laughin'  at  yer  heels  all  day  and 
snugglin'  in  her  little  bed  at  night.  The  birds  make 
music  fur  ye  in  the  trees.  The  creek  down  thar's 
laughin'  an'  singing'  winter  an'  summer.  The  world's 
too  purty  an'  life's  too  short  ter  throw  hit  away 
fightin'  an'  scramblin'  fur  nothin'." 

"For  something — Tom — something  big " 

"Don't  keer  how  big  'tis — what  of  it?  All  turns 
ter  ashes  in  yer  hands  bye  an'  bye  an'  yer  life's  gone. 
We  can't  live  these  young  days  over  again,  can  we? 
Ye  know  the  preacher  says:  'What  shall  hit  profit 
a  man  ef  he  gain  the  whole  world  an'  lose  his  life?'  Let 
me  off'n  these  lessons,  Honey?  I'm  too  old;  ye  can't 
larn  me  new  tricks  now.  Let  me  off  fer  good  an'  all, 
won't  ye?" 

"No,"  was  the  firm  answer.  "It  means  too  much. 
I  won't  give  up  and  let  the  man  I  love  sign  his  name 
forever  with  a  cross  mark." 

"I  ain't  goin'  ter  sign  no  more  papers  nohow !"  Tom 
broke  in. 

"I  signed  our  marriage  bond  with  a  mark,  Tom," 
she  went  on  evenly,  "just  because  you  couldn't 
write  your  name.  You've  got  to  learn,  I  won't  give 
up!"  * 

"Well,  it's  too  late  to-night  fur  any  more  lessons, 
now  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  we'll  make  up  for  it  next  time." 

8 


PROLOGUE 


The  tired  hunter  was  soon  sound  asleep  dreaming 
of  the  life  that  was  the  breath  of  his  nostrils. 

Through  the  still  winter's  night  the  young  wife 
lay  with  wide  staring  eyes.  Over  and  over  again  she 
weighed  her  chances  in  the  grim  struggle  begun  for 
the  mastery  of  his  mind.  The  longer  she  asked  her 
self  the  question  of  success  or  failure  the  more  doubt 
ful  seemed  the  outcome.  How  still  the  world! 

The  new  life  within  her  strong  young  body  suddenly 
stirred,  and  a  feeling  of  awe  thrilled  her  heart.  God 
had  suddenly  signalled  from  the  shores  of  Eternity. 

When  her  husband  waked  at  dawn  he  stared  at  her 
smiling  face  in  surprise. 

"What  ye  laughin'  about,  Nancy?"  he  cried. 

She  turned  toward  him  with  a  startled  look: 

"I  had  a  vision,  Tom!" 

"A  dream,  I  reckon." 

"God  had  answered  the  prayer  of  my  heart,"  she 
went  on  breathlessly,  "and  sent  me  a  son.  I  saw  him 
a  strong,  brave,  patient,  wise,  gentle  man.  Thou 
sands  hung  on  his  words  and  great  men  came  to  do 
him  homage.  With  bowed  head  he  led  me  into  a  beau 
tiful  home  that  had  shining  white  pillars.  He  bowed 
low  and  whispered  in  my  ear :  'This  is  yours,  my  angel 
mother.  I  bought  it  for  you  with  my  life.  All  that  I 
am  I  owe  to  you.' ' 

She  paused  a  moment  and  whispered: 

"O  Tom,  man,  a  new  song  is  singing  in  my  soul!" 

II 

The  woman  rose  quietly  and  went  the  rounds  of 
her  daily  work.  She  made  her  bed  to-day  in  trance- 

9 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


like  silence.  It  was  no  gilded  couch,  but  it  had  been 
built  by  the  hand  of  her  lover  and  was  sacred.  It 
filled  the  space  in  one  corner  of  the  cabin  farthest  from 
the  fire.  A  single  post  of  straight  cedar  securely  fixed 
in  the  ground  held  the  poles  in  place  which  formed 
the  side  and  foot  rail.  The  walls  of  the  cabin  formed 
the  other  side  and  head.  Across  from  the  pole  were 
fixed  the  slender  hickory  sticks  that  formed  the 
springy  hammock  on  which  the  first  mattress  of  moss 
and  grass  rested.  On  this  was  placed  a  feather  bed 
made  from  the  wild  fowl  Tom  had  killed  during  the  past 
two  years.  The  pillows  were  of  the  finest  feathers 
from  the  breasts  of  ducks.  A  single  quilt  of  ample 
size  covered  all,  and  over  this  was  thrown  a  huge 
counterpane  of  bear  skins.  Two  enormous  bear  rugs 
almost  completely  covered  the  dirt  floor,  and  a  carpet 
of  oak  leaves  filled  out  the  spaces. 

The  feather  bed  beaten  smooth,  the  fur  covering 
drawn  in  place  and  the  pillows  set  upright  against  the 
cabin  wall,  she  turned  to  the  two  bunks  in  the  opposite 
corner  and  carefully  re-arranged  them.  They  might 
be  used  soon.  This  was  the  corner  of  her  home  set 
aside  for  guests.  Tom  had  skillfully  built  two  berths 
boat  fashion,  one  above  the  other,  in  this  corner,  and 
a  curtain  drawn  over  a  smooth  wooden  rod  cut  this 
space  off  from  the  rest  of  the  room  when  occupied  at 
night  by  visitors. 

The  master  of  this  cabin  never  allowed  a  stranger 
to  pass  without  urging  him  to  stop  and  in  a  way  that 
took  no  denial. 

A  savory  dish  of  stewed  squirrel  and  corn  dumplings 
served  for  lunch.  The  baby's  face  was  one  glorious 
smear  of  joy  and  grease  at  its  finish. 

10 


PROLOGUE 


The  mother  took  the  bucket  from  its  shelf  and 
walked  leisurely  to  the  spring,  whose  limpid  waters 
gushed  from  a  rock  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The  child 
toddled  after  her,  the  little  moccasined  feet  stepping 
gingerly  over  the  sharp  gravel  of  the  rough  places. 

Before  filling  the  bucket  she  listened  again  for  the 
crack  of  Tom's  rifle,  and  could  hear  nothing.  A 
death-like  stillness  brooded  over  the  woods  and  fields. 
He  was  probably  watching  for  muskrat  under  the 
bluff  of  the  creek.  He  had  promised  to  stay  within 
call  to-day. 

The  afternoon  dragged  wearily.  She  tried  to  read 
the  one  book  she  possessed,  the  Bible.  The  pages, 
seemed  to  fade  and  the  eyes  refused  to  see. 

"O  Man,  Man,  why  don't  you  come  home!"  she 
cried  at  last. 

She  rose,  walked  to  the  door,  looked  and  listened — 
only  the  distant  rattle  of  a  woodpecker's  beak  on  a 
dead  tree  in  the  woods.  The  snow  began  to  fall  in 
little  fitful  dabs.  It  was  two  miles  to  the  nearest 
cabin,  and  her  soul  rose  in  fierce  rebellion  at  her  lone 
liness.  It  was  easy  for  a  man  who  loved  the  woods, 
the  fields  and  running  waters,  this  life,  but  for  the 
woman  who  must  wait  and  long  and  eat  her  heart 
out  alone — she  vowed  anew  that  she  would  not  endure 
it.  By  the  sheer  pull  of  her  will  she  would  lift  this 
man  from  his  drifting  life  and  make  him  take  his 
place  in  the  real  battle  of  the  world.  If  her  new  baby 
were  only  a  boy,  he  could  help  her  and  she  would 
win.  Again  she  stood  dreaming  of  the  vision  she  had 
seen  at  dawn. 

The  dark  young  face  suddenly  went  white  and  her 
hand  gripped  the  facing  of  the  door. 

11 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


She  waited  half  doubting,  half  amused  at  her  fears. 
It  was  only  the  twinge  of  a  muscle  perhaps.  She 
smiled  at  her  sudden  panic.  The  thought  had  scarcely 
formed  before  she  blanched  the  second  time  and  the 
firm  lips  came  together  with  sudden  energy  as  slie 
glanced  at  the  child  playing  on  the  rug  at  her  feet. 

She  seized  the  horn  that  hung  beside  the  door  and 
blew  the  pioneer's  long  call  of  danger.  Its  shrill  note 
rang  through  the  woods  against  the  hills  in  cadences 
that  seemed  half  muffled  by  the  falling  snow. 

Again  her  anxious  eyes  looked  from  the  doorway. 
Would  he  never  come !  The  trembling  slender  hand 
once  more  lifted  the  horn,  a  single  wild  note  rang 
out  and  broke  suddenly  into  silence.  The  horn  fell 
from  her  limp  grasp  and  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the 
darkening  sky  in  prayer,  as  Tom's  voice  from  the 
edge  of  the  woods  came  strong  and  full: 

"Yes,  Honey,  I'm  comin' !" 

There  was  no  question  of  doctor  or  nurse.  The 
young  pioneer  mother  only  asked  for  her  mate. 

For  two  fearful  hours  she  gripped  his  rough  hands 
until  at  last  her  nails  brought  the  blood,  but  the  man 
didn't  know  or  care.  Every  smothered  cry  that  came 
from  her  lips  began  to  tear  the  heart  out  of  his  body 
at  last.  He  could  hold  the  long  pent  agony  no  longer 
without  words. 

"My  God,  Nancy,  what  can  I  do  for  ye,  Honey?" 

Her  breath  came  in  gasps  and  her  eyes  were  shining 
with  a  strange  intensity. 

"Nothing,  Tom,  nothing  now — I'm  looking  Death 
in  the  face  and  I'm  not  afraid ' 

"Please  lemme  give  ye  some  whiskey,"  he  pleaded, 
pressing  the  glass  to  her  lips. 

12 


PROLOGUE 


"No — no,  take  it  away — I  hate  it.  My  baby  shall 
be  clean  and  strong  or  I  want  to  die." 

The  decision  seemed  to  brace  her  spirit  for  the  last 
test  when  the  trembling  feet  entered  the  shadows  of 
the  dim  valley  that  lies  between  Life  and  Death. 

The  dark,  slender  figure  lay  still  and  white  at  last. 
A  sharp  cry  from  lusty  lungs,  and  the  grey  eyes 
slowly  opened,  with  a  timid  wondering  look. 

"Tom !"   she  cried  with  quick  eager  tones. 

"Yes,  Nancy,  yes!" 

"A   boy?" 

"Of  course — and  a  buster  he  is,  too." 

"Give  him  to  me — quick!" 

The  stalwart  figure  bent  over  the  bed  and  laid 
the  little  red  bundle  in  her  arms.  She  pressed  him 
tenderly  to  her  heart,  felt  his  breath  on  her  breast 
and  the  joyous  tears  slowly  poured  down  her  cheeks. 

Ill 

Before  the  first  year  of  the  boy's  life  had  passed 
the  task  of  teaching  his  good-natured,  stubborn  father 
became  impossible.  The  best  the  wife  could  do  was  to 
make  him  trace  his  Jiame  in  sprawling  letters  that 
resembled  writing  and  painfully  spell  his  way  through 
the  simplest  passages  in  the  Bible. 

The  day  she  gave  up  was  one  of  dumb  despair. 
She  resolved  at  last  to  live  in  her  boy.  All  she  had 
hoped  and  dreamed  of  life  should  be  his  and  he  would 
be  hers.  Her  hands  could  make  him  good  or  bad, 
brave  or  cowardly,  noble  or  ignoble. 

He  was  a  remarkable  child  physically,  and  grew 
out  of  his  clothes  faster  than  she  could  make  them. 

IS 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


It  was  easy  to  see  from  his  second  year  that  he 
would  be  a  man  of  extraordinary  stature.  Both  mother 
and  father  were  above  the  average  height,  but  he 
would  overtop  them  both.  When  he  tumbled  over 
the  bear  rugs  on  the  cabin  floor  his  father  would 
roar  with  laughter: 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  Nancy,  look  at  them  legs! 
They're  windin'  blades.  Ef  he  ever  gits  grown,  he 
won't  have  ter  ax  fer  a  blessin',  he  kin  jest  reach 
up  an'  hand  it  down  hisself!" 

He  was  four  years  old  when  he  got  the  first  vision 
of  his  mother  that  time  should  never  blot  out.  His 
father  was  away  on  a  carpenter  job  of  four  days. 
Sleeping  in  the  lower  bunk  in  the  corner,  he  waked 
with  a  start  to  hear  the  chickens  cackling  loudly. 
His  mother  was  quietly  dressing.  He  leaped  to  his 
feet  shivering  in  the  dark  and  whispered: 

"What  is  it,  Ma?" 

"Something's  after  the  chickens." 

"Not   a  hawk?" 

"No,  nor  an  owl,  or  fox,  or  weasel — or  they'd 
squall — they're  cackling." 

The  rooster  cackled  louder  than  ever  and  the  Boy 
recognized  the  voice  of  his  speckled  hen  accompany 
ing  him.  How  weird  it  sounded  in  the  darkness  of 
the  still  spring  night!  The  cold  chills  ran  down  his 
back  and  he  caught  his  mother's  dress  as  she  reached 
for  the  rifle  that  stood  beside  her  bed. 

"You're  not  goin'  out  there,  Ma?"  the  Boy  pro 
tested. 

"Yes.     It's  a  dirty  thief  after  our  horse." 

Her  voice  was  low  and  steady  and  her  hand  was 
without  tremor  as  she  grasped  his. 

14 


PROLOGUE 


"Get  back  in  bed.     I  won't  be  gone  a  minute." 

She  left  the  cabin  and  noiselessly  walked  toward 
the  low  shed  in  which  the  horse  was  stabled. 

The  Boy  was  at  her  heels.  She  knew  and  rejoiced 
in  the  love  that  made  him  brave  for  her  sake. 

She  paused  a  moment,  listened,  and  then  lifted  her 
tall,  slim  form  and  advanced  steadily.  Her  bare  feet 
made  no  noise.  The  waning  moon  was  shining  with 
soft  radiance.  The  Boy's  heart  was  in  his  throat  as 
he  watched  her  slender  neck  and  head  outlined  against 
the  sky.  Never  had  he  seen  anything  so  calm  and 
utterly  brave. 

There  was  a  slight  noise  at  the  stable.  The  chickens 
cackled  with  louder  call.  Five  minutes  passed  and 
they  were  silent.  A  shadowy  figure  appeared  at  the 
corner  of  the  stable.  She  raised  the  rifle  and  flashed 
a  dagger-like  flame  into  the  darkness. 

A  smothered  cry,  the  shadow  leaped  the  fence  and 
the  beat  of  swift  feet  could  be  heard  in  the  distance. 

The  Boy  clung  close  to  her  side  and  his  voice  was 
husky  as  he  spoke: 

"Ain't  you  afraid,  Ma?" 

The  calm  answer  rang  forever  through  his  memory: 

"I  don't  know  what  fear  means,  my  Boy.  It's  not 
the  first  time  I've  caught  these  prowling  scoundrels." 

Next  morning  he  saw  the  dark  blood  marks  on  the 
trail  over  which  the  thief  had  fled,  and  looked  into 
his  mother's  wistful  grey  eyes  with  a  new  reverence 
and  awe. 

IV 

The  Boy  was  quick  to  know  and  love  the  birds  of 
hedge  and  field  and  woods.  The  martins  that  built  in 

15 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


his  gourds  on  the  tall  pole  had  opened  his  eyes.  The 
red  and  bluebirds,  the  thrush,  the  wren,  the  robin, 
the  catbird,  and  song  sparrows  were  his  daily  com 
panions. 

A  mocking-bird  came  at  last  to  build  her  nest  in  a 
bush  beside  the  garden,  and  her  mate  began  to  make 
the  sky  ring  with  his  song.  The  puzzle  of  the  feathered 
tribe  whose  habits  he  couldn't  fathom  was  the  whip- 
poor-will.  His  mother  seemed  to  dislike  his  ominous 
sound.  But  the  soft  mournful  notes  appealed  to  the 
Boy's  fancy.  Often  at  night  he  sat  in  the  doorway 
of  the  cabin  watching  the  gathering  shadows  and  the 
flicker  of  the  fire  when  supper  was  cooking,  listening 
to  the  tireless  song  within  a  few  feet  of  the  house. 

"Why  don't  you  like  'em,  Ma?"  he  asked,  while 
one  was  singing  with  unusually  deep  and  haunting 
voice  so  near  the  cabin  that  its  echo  seemed  to  come 
from  the  chimney  jamb. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  replied : 

"They  say  it's  a  sign  of  death  for  them  to  come 
so  close  to  the  house." 

The  Boy  laughed: 

"You  don't  believe  it?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Well,  I  like  'em,"  he  stoutly  declared.  "I  like  to 
feel  the  cold  shivers  when  they  sing  right  under  my 
feet.  You're  not  afraid  of  a  little  whip-poor-will?" 

He  looked  up  into  her  sombre  face  with  a  smile. 

"No,"  was  the  gentle  answer,  "but  I  want  to  live 
to  see  my  Boy  a  fine  strong  man,"  she  paused,  stooped, 
and  drew  him  into  her  arms. 

There  was  something  in  her  tones  that  brought 
a  lump  into  his  throat.  The  moon  was  shining  in 

16 


PROLOGUE 


the  full  white  glory  of  the  Southern  spring.  A 
night  of  marvellous  beauty  enfolded  the  little  cabin. 
He  loqked  into  her  eyes  and  they  were  shining  with 
tears. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  tenderly. 

"Nothing,   Boy,   I'm   just   dreaming   of  you!" 


The  first  day  of  the  fall  in  his  sixth  year  he  asked 
his  mother  to  let  him  go  to  the  next  corn-shucking. 

"You're  too  little  a  boy." 

"I  can  shuck  corn,"  he  stoutly  argued. 

"You'll  be  good,  if  I  let  you  go?"   she   asked. 

"What's  to  hurt  me  there?" 

"Nothing,  unless  you  let  it.  The  men  drink  whiskey, 
the  girls  dance.  Sometimes  there's  a  quarrel  or  fight." 

"It  won't  hurt  me  ef  I  'tend  to  my  own  business, 
will  it?" 

"Nothing  will  ever  hurt  you,  if  you'll  just  do  that, 
Boy,"  the  father  broke  in. 

"May  I  go?" 

"Yes,  we're  invited  next  week  to  a  quilting  and 
corn-shucking.  I'll  go  with  you." 

The  Boy  shouted  for  joy  and  counted  the  days 
until  the  wonderful  event.  They  left  home  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  wagon.  The  quilting  began  at  three, 
the  corn-shucking  at  sundown. 

The  house  was  a  marvellous  structure  to  the  Boy's 
excited  imagination.  It  was  the  first  home  he  had 
ever  seen  not  built  of  logs. 

"Why,  Ma,"  he  cried  in  open-eyed  wonder,  "there 
ain't  no  logs  in  the  house!  How  did  they  ever  put 
it  together?" 

17 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"With  bricks  and  mortar." 

The  Boy  couldn't  keep  his  eyes  off  this  building. 
It  was  a  simple,  one-story  square  structure  of  four 
rooms  and  an  attic,  with  little  dormer  windows  peep 
ing  from  the  four  sides  of  the  pointed  roof.  McDonald, 
the  thrifty  Scotch-Irishman,  from  the  old  world,  had 
built  it  of  bricks  he  had  ground  and  burnt  on  his 
own  place. 

The  dormer  windows  peeping  from  the  roof  caught 
the  Boy's  fancy. 

"Do  you  reckon  his  boys  sleep  up  there  and  peep  out 
of  them  holes?" 

The  mother  smiled. 

"Maybe    so." 

"Why  don't  we  build  a  house  like  that?"  he  asked 
at  last.  "Don't  you  want  it?" 

The   mother   squeezed   his    little   hand: 

"When  you're  a  man  will  you  build  your  mother 
one?" 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  a  moment,  caught  the  pen 
sive  longing  and  answered: 

"Yes.     I  will." 

She  stooped  and  kissed  the  firm  mouth  and  was 
about  to  lead  him  into  the  large  work-room  where 
the  women  were  gathering  around  the  quilts  stretched 
on  their  frames,  when  a  negro  slave  suddenly  ap 
peared  to  take  her  horse  to  the  stable.  He  was  fat, 
jolly  and  coal  black.  His  yellow  teeth  gleamed  in 
their  blue  gums  with  a  jovial  welcome. 

The  Boy  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  and  watched 
until  the  negro  disappeared.  It  was  the  first  black 
man  he  had  ever  seen.  He  had  heard  of  negroes 
and  that  they  were  slaves.  But  he  had  no  idea 

18 


PROLOGUE 

that  one  human  being  could  be  so  different  from  an 
other. 

In  breathless  awe  he  asked: 

"Is  he  folks?" 

"Of  course,  Boy,"  his  mother  answered,  smiling. 

"What  made  him  so  black?" 

"The    sun   in   Africa." 

"What  made  his  nose  so  flat  and  his  lips  so 
thick?" 

"He  was   born  that  way." 

"What  made  him   come  here?" 

"He  didn't.  The  slave  traders  put  him  in  chains 
and  brought  him  across  the  sea  and  sold  him  into 
slavery." 

The  little  body  suddenly  stiffened: 

"Why  didn't  he   kill  'em?" 

"He  didn't  know  how  to  defend  himself."  ' 

"Why   don't   he    run    away?" 

"He   hasn't   sense   enough,   I   reckon.      He's   got   a 
home,  plenty  to  eat  and  plenty  to  wear,  and  he's  afraid    ' 
he'll  be  caught  and  whipped." 

The  mother  had  to  pull  the  Boy  with  her  into  the 
quilting  room.  His  eyes  followed  the  negro  to  the 
stable  with  a  strange  fascination.  The  thing  that 
puzzled  him  beyond  all  comprehension  was  why  a  big 
strong  man  like  that,  if  he  were  a  man,  would  submit. 
Why  didn't  he  fight  and  die?  A  curious  feeling  of  - 
contempt  filled  his  mind.  This  black  thing  that  looked 
like  a  man,  walked  like  a  man  and  talked  like  a  man 
couldn't  be  one!  No  real  man  would  grin  and  laugh 
and  be  a  slave.  The  black  fool  seemed  to  be  happy. 
He  had  not  only  grinned  and  laughed,  but  he  went  } 
away  whistling  and  singing. 

19 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


In  three  hours  the  quilts  were  finished  and  the  men 
had  gathered  for  the  corn-shucking. 

Before  eight  o'clock  the  last  ear  was  shucked,  and 
a  long  white  pile  of  clean  husked  corn  lay  glistening 
in  the  moonlight  where  the  dark  pyramid  had  stood  at 
sunset. 

With  a  shout  the  men  rose,  stretched  their  legs  and 
washed  their  hands  in  the  troughs  filled  with  water, 
provided  for  the  occasion.  They  sat  down  to  supper 
at  four  long  tables  placed  in  the  kitchen  and  work 
room,  where  the  quilts  had  been  stretched. 

Never  had  the  Boy  seen  such  a  feast — barbecued 
shoat,  turkeys,  ducks,  chickens,  venison,  bear  meat, 
sweet  potatoes,  wild  honey,  corn  dodgers,  wheat  bis 
cuit,  stickies  and  pound  cake — pound  cake  until  you 
couldn't  eat  another  mouthful  and  still  they  brought 
more! 

After  the  supper  the  young  folks  sang  and  danced 
before  the  big  fires  until  ten  o'clock,  and  then  the 
crowd  began  to  thin,  and  by  eleven  the  last  man  was 
gone  and  the  harvest  festival  was  over.  « 

It  was  nearly  twelve  before  the  Boy  knelt  at  his 
mother's  knee  to  say  his  prayers. 

When  the  last  words  were  spoken  he  still  knelt, 
his  eyes  gazing  into  the  flickering  fire. 

The  mother  bent  low: 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Boy?  The  house 
you're  going  to  build  for  me?" 

"No." 

"What?" 

"That  nigger — wasn't  he  funny?  You  don't  want 
me  to  get  you  any  niggers  with  the  house  do  you?" 

"No." 

20 


PROLOGUE 


"I  didn't  think  you  would,"  he  went  on  thoughtfully, 
"because  you  said  General  Washington  set  his  slaves 
free  and  wanted  everybody  else  to  do  it  too." 

He  paused  and  shook  his  head  thoughtfully.  "But 
he  was  funny — he  was  laughin'  and  whistlin'  and 
singin' !" 


The  air  of  the  Southern  autumn  was  like  wine.  The 
Boy's  heart  beat  with  new  life.  The  scarlet  and 
purple  glory  of  the  woods  fired  his  imagination.  He 
found  himself  whistling  and  singing  at  his  tasks.  He 
proudly  showed  a  bee  tree  to  his  mother,  the  honey 
was  gathered  and  safely  stored.  A  barrel  of  walnuts, 
a  barrel  of  hickorynuts  and  two  bushels  of  chestnuts 
were  piled  near  his  bed  in  the  loft. 

But  the  day  his  martins  left,  he  came  near  break 
ing  down.  He  saw  them  circle  high  in  graceful  sweep 
ing  curves  over  the  gourds,  chattering  and  laughing 
with  a  strange  new  note  in  their  cries. 

He  watched  them  wistfully.  His  mother  found  him 
looking  with  shining  eyes  far  up  into  the  still  autumn 
sky.  His  voice  was  weak  and  unsteady  when  he  spoke : 

"I  —  can  —  hardly  —  hear  —  'em — now ;  they're  so 
high !" 

A  slender  hand  touched  his  tangled  hair : 

"Don't  worry,  Boy,  they'll  come  again." 

"You're  sure,  Ma?"   he  asked,  pathetically. 

"Sure." 

"Will  they  know  when  it's  time?" 

"Some  one  always  tells  them." 

"Who?" 

"God.     That's  what  the  Bible  means  when  it  says, 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


'the  stork  knoweth  her  appointed  time.'  I  read  that 
to  you  the  other  night,  don't  you  remember?" 

"But  maybe  God'll  be  so  busy  he'll  forget  my 
birds?" 

"He  never  forgets.  He  counts  the  beat  of  a  spar 
row's  wing." 

The  mother's  faith  was  contagious.  The  drooping 
spirit  caught  the  flash  of  light  from  her  eyes  and 
smiled. 

"We'll  watch  for  'em  next  spring,  won't  we?  And 
I'll  put  up  new  gourds  long  before  they  come !" 

Comforted  at  last,  he  went  to  the  woods  to  gather 
chinquapins.  The  squirrels  were  scampering  in  all 
directions  and  he  asked  his  father  that  night  to  let 
him  go  hunting  with  him  next  day. 

"All  right,  Boy!"  was  the  hearty  answer.  "We'll 
have  some  fun  this  winter." 

He  paused  as  he  saw  the  mother's  lips  suddenly 
close  and  a  shadow  pass  over  her  dark,  sensitive  face. 

"Hit's  no  use  ter  worry,  Nancy,"  he  went  on  good- 
naturedly.  "I  promised  you  not  ter  take  him  'less  he 
wanted  ter  go.  But  hit's  in  the  blood,  and  hit's  got 
ter  come  out." 

Tom  picked  the  Boy  up  and  placed  him  on  his  knee 
and  stroked  his  dark  head.  Sarah  crouched  at  his 
feet  and  smiled.  He  was  going  to  tell  about  the  In 
dians  again.  She  could  tell  by  the  look  in  his  eye 
as  he  watched  the  flames  leap  over  the  logs. 

"Did  ye  know,  Boy,"  he  began  slowly,  "that  we 
come  out  to  Kaintuck  with  Daniel  Boone?" 

"Did  we?" 

"Yes  sirree,  with  old  Dan'l  hisself.  It  wuz  thirty 
years  ago.  I  wuz  a  little  shaver  no  bigger'n  you, 


PROLOGUE 


but  I  remember  jest  as  well  ez  ef  it  wuz  yistiddy. 
Lordy,  Boy,  thar  wuz  er  man  that  wuz  er  man !  Ye 

couldn't  a  made  no  jackleg  carpenter  outen  him " 

He  paused  and  cast  a  sly  wink  at  Nancy  as  she  bent 
over  her  knitting. 

"Tell  me  about  him?"  the  Boy  cried. 

"Yessir,  Dan'l  Boone  wuz  a  man  an'  no  mistake. 
The  Indians  would  ketch  'im  an'  keep  er  ketchin'  'im 
an'  he'd  slip  through  their  fingers  slicker'n  a  eel.  The 
very  fust  trip  he  tuck  out  here  he  wuz  captured  by 
the  Redskins.  Dan'l  wuz  with  his  friend  John  Stuart. 

"They  left  their  camp  one  day  an'  set  out  on  a  big 
hunt,  and  all  of  a  sudden  they  wuz  grabbed  by  the 
Injuns." 

"Why  didn't  they  shoot  'em?"  the  Boy  asked. 

"They  wuz  too  many  of  'em  an'  they  wuz  too  quick 
for  Dan'l.  He  didn't  have  no  show  at  all.  The  Injuns 
robbed  'em  of  everything  they  had  an'  kept  'em  pris 
oners. 

"But  ole  Dan'l  wuz  a  slick  un.  He'd  been  studyin* 
Injuns  all  his  life  an'  he  knowed  'em  frum  a  ter  izard. 
They  didn't  have  nothin'  but  bows  an'  arrers  then 
an'  he  had  a  rifle  thes  like  mine.  He  never  got  flus 
tered  or  riled  by  the  way  they  wuz  treatin'  him,  but 
let  on  like  he  wuz  happy  ez  er  June  bug.  Dan'l  would 
raise  his  rifle,  put  a  bullet  twixt  a  buffalo's  eyes  an' 
he'd  drap  in  his  tracks.  The  Injuns  wuz  tickled  ter 
death  an'  thought  him  the  greatest  man  that  ever 
lived — an'  he  wuz,  too.  So  they  got  ter  likin'  him  an' 
treatin'  'im  better.  For  seven  days  an'  nights  him  an' 
Stuart  helped  'em  hunt  an'  showed  'em  how  ter  work 
er  rifle.  The  Injuns  was  plum  fooled  by  Dan'l's 
friendly  ways  an'  didn't  watch  'im  so  close. 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"So  one  night  Dan'l  helped  'em  ter  eat  a  bigger 
supper  than  ever.  They  wuz  all  full  enough  ter  bust, 
an'  went  ter  sleep  an'  slept  like  logs.  Hit  wuz  a 
dark  night  an'  the  fire  burned  low,  an'  long  'bout  mid 
night  Dan'l  made  up  his  mind  ter  give  'em  the  slip. 

"Hit  wuz  er  dangerous  job.  Ef  he  failed  hit  wuz 
death  shore-nuff,  for  nothin'  makes  a  Injun  so  pizen 
mad  ez  fer  anybody  ter  be  treated  nice  by  'em  an'  then 
try  ter  get  away.  The  Redskins  wuz  all  sleepin'  round 
the  fire.  They  wuz  used  ter  jumpin'  in  the  middle  o' 
the  night  or  any  minute.  Mebbe  they  wuz  all  ersleep, 
an'  mebbe  they  wasn't. 

"Old  Dan'l  he  pertended  ter  be  sleepin'  the  sleep 
er  the  dead,  an'  I  tell  ye  he  riz  mighty  keerful,  shuck 
Stuart  easy,  waked  him  up  an'  motioned  him  ter 
foller.  Talk  about  sneakin'  up  on  a  wild  duck  er  a 
turkey — ole  Dan'l  done  some  slick  business  gettin' 
away  frum  that  fire !  Man,  ef  they'd  rustled  a  leaf 
er  broke  a  twig,  them  savages  would  a  all  been  up 
an'  on  'em  in  a  minute.  Holdin'  tight  to  their  guns — 
you  kin  bet  they  didn't  leave  them — and  a  steppin' 
light  ez  feathers  they  crept  away  from  the  fire  an' 
out  into  the  deep  dark  o'  the  woods.  They  stopped 
an'  stood  as  still  ez  death  an'  watched  till  they  see 
the  Injuns  hadn't  waked " 

The  pioneer  paused  and  his  white  teeth  shone 
through  his  black  beard  as  he  cocked  his  shaggy  head 
to  one  side  and  looked  into  the  Boy's  wide  eyes. 

"And  then  what  do  you  reckon  Dan'l  Boone  done, 
sir?" 

"What?" 

"Waal,  ye  seed  the  way  them  bees  made  fer  their 
trees,  didn't  ye,  when  they  got  a  load  er  honey?" 


PROLOGUE 

"Yes,  that's  the  way  I  found  their  home." 

"But  you  had  the  daylight,  mind  ye!  And  Dan'l 
was  in  pitch  black  night,  but,  sir,  he  made  a  bee-line 
through  them  dark  woods  straight  for  his  camp  he'd 
left  seven  days  afore.  And,  man,  yer  kin  bet  they 
made  tracks  when  they  got  clear  o'  the  Redskins! 
Hit  wuz  six  hours  till  day  an'  when  the  Injuns  waked 
they  didn't  know  which  way  ter  look " 

Tom  paused  and  the  Boy  cried  eagerly: 

"Did  they  get  there?" 

"Git  whar?"   the   father   asked   dreamily. 

"Get  back  to  their  own  camp?" 

"Straight  ez  a  bee-line  I  tell  ye.  But  the  camp 
had  been  busted  and  robbed  and  the  other  men  wuz 
gone." 

"Gone  where?" 

Tom  shook  his  shaggy  head. 

"Nobody  never  knowed  ter  this  day — reckon  the 
Injuns  scalped  'em " 

He  paused  again  and  a  dreamy  look  overspread 
his  rugged  face. 

"Like  they  scalped  your  own  grandpa  that  day." 

"Did  they  scalp  my  grandpa?"  the  Boy  asked  in 
an  awed  whisper. 

"That  they  did.  Your  Uncle  Mordecai  an'  me  was 
workin'  with  him  in  the  new  ground,  cleanin'  it  fur 
corn  when  all  of  a  sudden  the  Injuns  riz  right  up 
outen  the  ground.  Your  grandpa  drapped  dead  the 
fust  shot,  an'  Mordecai  flew  ter  the  cabin  fer  the 
rifle.  A  big  Redskin  jumped  over  a  log  an'  scalped 
my  own  daddy  before  my  eyes!  He  grabbed  me  an' 
started  pullin'  me  ter  the  woods,  an'  then,  Sonny, 
somethin'  happened " 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Tom  looked  at  the  long  rifle  in  its  buck's  horn  rest 
and  smiled: 

"Old  'Speakeasy'  up  thar  stretched  her  long  neck 
through  a  chink  in  the  logs  an'  said  somethin'  ter 
Mr.  Redskin.  She  didn't  raise  her  voice  much  louder'n 
a  whisper.  She  jist  kinder  sighed: 

"Kerpeow!" 

"I  kin  hear  hit  echoin'  through  them  woods  yit. 
That  Injun  drapped  my  hands  before  I  heerd  the  gun, 
an'  she  hadn't  more'n  sung  out  afore  he  wuz  lyin' 
in  a  heap  at  my  feet.  The  ball  had  gone  clean  through 
him » 

Tom  paused  again  and  looked  for  a  long  time  in 
silence  into  the  glowing  coals.  The  little  cabin  was 
very  still.  The  Boy  lifted  his  face  to  his  mother's 
curiously : 

"Ma,  you  said  God  counted  the  beat  of  a  sparrow's 
wing?"  " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  what  was  He  doin'  when  that  Indian  scalped 
my  grandpa?" 

The  mother  threw  a  startled  look  at  the  bold  little 
questioner  and  answered  reverently: 

"Keeping  watch  in  Heaven,  my  Boy.  The  hairs 
of  your  head  are  numbered  and  not  one  falls  without 
his  knowledge.  We  had  to  pay  the  price  of  blood 
for  this  beautiful  country.  Nothing  is  ever  worth 
having  that  doesn't  cost  precious  lives." 

Again  the  cabin  was  still.  An  owl's  deep  cry 
boomed  from  the  woods  and  a  solitary  wolf  answered 
in  the  distance.  The  Boy's  brow  was  wrinkled  for 
a  moment  and  then  he  suddenly  looked  up  to  his 
father's  rugged  face: 

26 


PROLOGUE 


"And  what  became  of  Dan'l  Boone?" 

"Oh,  he  lit  on  his  feet  all  right.  He  always  did. 
He  moved  on  with  Stuart,  built  him  another  camp 
in  the  deepest  woods  he  could  find  and  hunted  there 
all  winter — jest  think,  Boy,  all  winter — every  day — 
thar  wuz  a  man  that  wuz  a  man  shore  miff !"  - 

"Yes,  sirree !"  the  listener  agreed. 

The  mother  lifted  her  head  and  thoughtfully  watched 
the  sparkling  eyes. 

"And  do  you  want  to  know  why  Daniel  Boone  was 
great,  my  son?"  she  quietly  asked. 

"Yes,  why?"  was  the  quick  response. 

"Because  he  used  his  mind  and  his  hands,  while  the 
other  men  around  him  just  used  their  hands.  He 
learned  to  read  and  write  when  he  was  a  little  boy. 
He  mixed  brains  with  his  powder  and  shot." 

"Did  he,  Pa?"  the  questioner  cried. 

The  father  smiled.  He  could  afford  to  be  generous. 
The  Boy  looked  to  him  as  the  authority  on  Daniel 
Boone. 

"Yes,  I  reckon  he  did.  He  wuz  smart.  I  didn't  have 
no  chance  when  I  wuz  little." 

"Then  I'm  going  to  learn,  too.  Ma  can  teach  me." 
He  leaped  from  his  father's  lap  and  climbed  into  hers. 
"You  will,  won't  you,  Ma?" 

The  mother  smiled  as   she  slowly   answered: 

"Yes,  Honey,  I'll  begin  to-morrow  night  when  you 
get  back  from  hunting." 

VI 

Slowly  but  surely  the  indomitable  will  within  the 
Boy's  breast  conquered  the  cries  of  aching  muscles,  and 

27 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


he  went  about  his  daily  farm  tasks  with  the  dogged 
persistence  of  habit.  He  had  learned  to  whistle  at 
his  work  and  his  eager  mind  began  to  look  for  new 
worlds  to  conquer. 

At  the  right  moment  the  tempter  appeared.  It 
rained  on  Saturday  and  Austin,  his  neighbor,  came 
over  to  see  him.  They  cracked  walnuts  and  hick 
ory-nuts  in  the  loft  while  the  rain  pattered  noisily 
on  the  board  roof.  Austin  had  a  definite  sugges 
tion  for  Sunday  that  would  break  the  monotony  of 
life. 

"Let's  me  an'  you  not  go  ter  meetin'  ter-morrow?" 
the  neighbor  ventured  for  a  starter. 

"All  right!"  the  Boy  agreed.  "Preachin'  makes  me 
tired  anyhow." 

"Me,  too,  an'  I  tell  ye  what  I'll  do.  I'll  get  my  Ma 
ter  let  me  come  ter  your  house  to  stay  all  day,  an' 
when  your  folks  go  off  ter  meetin',  me  an'  you'll  have 
some  fun!" 

"What?" 

"We'll  stay  all  day  on  the  creek  banks,  find  duck 

nests,  turkey  and  quail  nests,  an', "  Austin  paused 

and  dropped  his  voice,  "go  in  swimmin'  if  we  take 
a  notion " 

The   Boy    slowly    shook    his    head. 

"No,  less  don't*  do  that." 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  Ma  don't  'low  me  to  go  in  the  creek  till 
June — says  I  might  ketch  my  death  o'  cold." 

"Shucks !  I've  been  in  twice  already !" 

"Have   ye?" 

"Yep!" 

"And  ye  didn't  get  sick?" 


PROLOGUE 


"Do  I  look  sick?" 

"Not  a  bit." 

"Well,  then?" 

"All   right— we'll  go." 

The  spirit  of  freedom  born  of  the  fields  and  woods 
had  grown  into  something  more  than  an  attitude  of 
mind.  He  was  ready  for  the  deed — the  positive  act 
of  adventure.  He  didn't  like  to  disobey  his  mother. 
Rut  he  couldn't  afford  to  let  Austin  think  that  he 
was  a  molly-coddle,  a  mere  babe  hanging  to  her  skirts. 
He  was  doing  a  man's  work.  It  was  time  he  took  a 
few  of  man's  privileges. 

He  revelled  in  the  situation  of  adventure  that  night 
and  saw  himself  the  hero  of  stirring  scenes. 

Next  morning  on  Austin's  arrival  he  asked  his 
mother  to  let  him  stay  at  home  and  play. 

"Don't  you  want  to  go  to  meeting  and  hear  the 
new  preacher?"  she  asked  persuasively. 

"No,  I'm  tired." 

The  mother  smiled  indulgently.  He  was  young — 
far  too  young  yet  to  know  the  meaning  of  true  reli 
gion.  She  was  a  Baptist,  and  the  first  principle  of 
her  religion  was  personal  faith  and  direct  relations 
of  the  individual  soul  with  God.  She  remembered  her 
own  hours  of  torture  in  childhood. 

"All  right,  Boy,"  she  said  graciously.  "Be  good 
now,  while  we're  gone." 

His  big  toe  was  digging  in  the  dirt  while  he  mur 
mured  : 

"Yes'm." 

The  wagon  had  no  sooner  disappeared  than  he  and 
Austin  were  flying  with  swift  bare  feet  along  the  path 
that  led  to  the  creek.  It  was  the  hottest  day  of  the 

29 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


spring — a  close  air  and  broiling  sun  to  be  remembered 
longer  than  the  hottest  day  of  August. 

They  ran  for  a  mile  without  a  pause,  rolled  in  the 
sand  on  the  banks  of  the  creek  and  shouted  their  joy 
in  perfect  freedom.  They  explored  the  deep  cane 
brakes  and  stalked  imaginary  buffaloes  and  bears  with 
out  number,  encountering  nothing  bigger  than  a  grey 
fox  and  a  couple  of  muskrats. 

"Let's  cross  over!"  Austin  cried.  "I  saw  a  bear 
track  on  that  side  one  day.  We  can  trail  him  to  his 
den  and  show  him  to  your  Pap  when  he  comes  home. 
Here's  a  log!" 

The  Boy  looked  dubiously,  measured  it  with  his 
eye,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Nope — it's  too  little  and  too  high  in  the  air — it'll 
wobble,"  he  declared. 

"But  we  can  coon  it  over!"  Austin  urged.  "We 
can  grab  hold  of  a  limb  over  there  and  slide  down — 
it's  easy — come  on !" 

Before  he  could  make  further  objection,  the 
young  adventurer  quickly  straddled  the  swaying 
pole,  and,  with  the  agility  of  a  cat,  hopped 
across,  grasped  one  of  the  limbs  and  slipped 
to  the  sand. 

"Come  on!"  he  shouted.     "See  how  easy  it  is!" 

The  Boy  looked  doubtfully  at  the  swaying  sapling 
and  wished  he  had  gone  to  hear  that  preacher  after 
all.  It  would  never  do  to  say  he  was  afraid.  The 
other  fellow  had  done  it  so  quickly.  And  it  was  no 
use  to  argue  with  Austin  that  his  legs  were  shorter, 
his  body  more  compact  and  so  much  easier  to  hold 
his  balance.  The  idea  of  cowardice  was  something 
too  vile  for  thought.  The  Boy  felt  that  he  was  doomed 

30 


PROLOGUE 


to   fall  before  he  moved  but  he  waved  a  brave  little 
hand  in  answer: 

"All  right,  I'm  comin'!" 

Half  way  across  the  pole  began  to  tear  its  roots 
from  the  bluff.  He  felt  it  sinking,  stopped  and  held 
his  breath  as  it  suddenly  broke  with  a  crash  and  fell. 

"Look  out !     Hold  tight !"  Austin  yelled. 

He  did  his  best,  but  lost  his  balance  and  toppled 
head  downward  into  the  deep  still  water. 

His  mouth  flew  open  at  the  first  touch  of  the  chill 
stream;  he  gasped  for  breath  and  drew  into  his  lungs 
a  strangling  flood.  The  blood  rushed  to  his  brain 
in  a  wild  explosion  of  terror.  He  struck  out  madly 
with  his  long  arms  and  legs,  fighting  with  desperation 
for  breath  and  drinking  in  only  the  agony  and  fear 
of  death.  His  mother's  voice  came  low  and  faint  and 
far  away  in  some  other  world,  saying  softly: 

"Be  good  now,  while  we're  gone!" 

Again  he  struck  out  blindly,  fiercely,  madly  into 
the  darkness  that  was  slowly  swallowing  him  body 
and  soul. 

His  hand  touched  something  as  he  sank,  he  grasped 
it  with  instinctive  terror  and  knew  no  more  until  he 
waked  in  the  infernal  regions  with  the  Devil  sitting 
on  his  stomach  glaring  into  his  eyes  and  holding  him 
by  the  throat  trying  to  choke  him  to  death.  His 
head  was  down  a  steep  hill. 

With  a  mighty  effort  he  threw  the  Devil  off,  loosed 
his  hold  and  sucked  in  a  tiny  breath  of  air,  and  then 
another  and  another,  coughing  and  spluttering  and 
wheezing  foam  and  water  from  his  mouth  and  ears 
and  nose  and  eyes. 

At  last  a  voice  gasped: 

31 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Is— that— you— Austin  ?" 

"You  bet  it's  me!  I  got  ye  a  breathin'  all  right 
now — who'd  ye  think  it  wuz?" 

The  Boy  coughed  again  and  squeezed  his  lungs 
clear  of  water. 

"Why — I  was  afraid  I  was  dead  and  you  was  the 
Old  Scratch  and  had  me." 

"Well,  I  thought  you  was  a  goner  shore  nuff  till  yer 
hand  grabbed  the  pole  I  stuck  after  ye.  Man  alive, 
but  you  did  hold  onto  it!  I  lakened  ter  never  got 
yer  hand  loose  so's  I  could  pull  ye  up  on  the  bank 
and  turn  ye  upside  down  and  squeeze  the  water  outen 

ye." 

"Did  you  sit  on  my  stomach  and  choke  me?"  the 
Boy  asked. 

"I  set  on  yer  and  mashed  the  water  out,  but  I 
didn't  choke  you." 

"I  thought  the  Old  Scratch  had  me !" 

For  an  hour  they  talked  in  awed  whispers  of  Sin 
and  Death  and  Trouble  and  then  the  blood  of  youth 
shook  off  the  nightmare. 

They  were  alive  and  unhurt.  They  were  all  right 
and  it  was  a  good  joke.  They  swore  eternal  secrecy. 
The  day  was  yet  young  and  it  was  a  glorious  one. 
Their  clothes  were  wet  and  they  had  to  be  dried 
before  night.  That  settled  it.  They  would  strip, 
hang  their  clothes  in  the  hot  sun  and  wallow  in 
the  sand  and  play  in  the  shallow  water  until  sun 
down. 

"And  besides,"  Austin  urged,  "this  here's  a  warnin' 
straight  from  the  Lord — me  and  you  must  learn  ter 
swim." 

"That's  so,  ain't  it?"  the  Boy  agreed. 

32 


PROLOGUE 


"It's  what  I  calls  a  sign  from  on  high — and  it  pints 
right  into  the  creek !" 

They  agreed  that  the  thing  to  do  was  to  heed  at 
once  this  divine  revelation  and  devote  the  whole  Sab 
bath  day  to  the  solemn  work — in  the  creek. 

They  found  a  beautifully  sunny  spot  with  an  im 
mense  sand  bar  and  wide  shallow  safe  waters.  They 
carefully  placed  their  clothes  to  dry  and  basked  in 
the  bright  sun.  They  practiced  swimming  in  water 
waist  deep  and  Austin  learned  to  make  three  strokes 
and  reach  the  length  of  his  body  before  sinking. 

They  rolled  in  the  sun  again  and  ate  their  lunch. 
They  ran  naked  through  the  woods  to  a  branch  that 
flowed  into  the  creek,  followed  it  to  the  source  and 
drank  at  a  beautiful  spring. 

Through  the  long  afternoon  they  lived  in  a  fairy 
world  of  freedom,  of  dreams  and  make-believe.  They 
talked  of  great  hunters  and  discussed  the  best  methods 
of  attacking  all  manner  of  wild  beasts. 

The  sun  was  sinking  toward  the  western  hills  when 
they  hastily  picked  up  their  clothes  and  found  a  safe 
ford  across  which  they  could  wade,  holding  their 
things  above  their  heads. 

The  Boy  reached  the  house  just  as  the  wagon  drove 
up  to  the  door.  He  hurried  to  help  his  father  with 
the  horse.  A  sense  of  elation  filled  his  mind  that  he 
was  shrewd  enough  to  keep  his  own  secrets.  Of  course, 
his  mother  needn't  know  what  had  happened.  He  was 
none  the  worse  for  it. 

In  answer  to  her  question  of  how  he  had  spent  the 
day  he  vaguely  answered: 

"In  the  woods.  They're  awfully  pretty  now  with 
the  dogwood  all  in  bloom." 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


He  talked  incessantly  at  supper,  teasing  Sarah 
about  her  jolly  time  at  the  meeting.  Toward  the  end 
of  the  meal  he  grew  silent.  A  curious  sensation  began 
on  his  back  and  shoulders  and  arms.  He  paid  no  at 
tention  to  it  at  first,  but  it  rapidly  grew  worse.  The 
more  he  tried  to  shake  off  the  feeling  the  more  dis 
tinct  and  sharp  it  grew.  At  last  every  inch  of  his 
body  seemed  to  be  on  fire. 

He  rose  slowly  from  the  table  and  walked  to  his 
stool  in  the  corner  wondering — wondering  and  fear 
ing.  He  sat  in  dead  silence  for  half  an  hour. 
The  perspiration  began  to  stand  out  on  his  fore 
head.  It  was  no  use  longer  to  try  to  fool  himself, 
there  was  something  the  matter — something  big — 
something  terrible!  A  fierce  and  scorching  fever  was 
burning  him  to  death.  He  dared  not  move.  Every 
muscle  quivered  with  agony  when  he  tried. 

The  mother's  keen  eye  saw  the  tears  he  couldn't 
keep  back. 

"What's  the  matter,  Boy?"  she  tenderly  asked  while 
his  father  was  at  the  stable  putting  the  wagon  under 
the  shed. 

"I  don't  know  'm,"  he  choked.  "I'm  all  on  fire — 
I'm  burnin'  up " 

She  touched  his  forehead  and  slipped  her  arm  around 
his  shoulders. 

He  screamed  with   pain. 

The  mother  looked  into  his  face  with  a  sudden 
start. 

"Why,  what  on  earth,  child?  What  have  you  been 
doing  to-day?" 

He  hesitated  and  tried  to  be  brave,  but  it  was  no 
use.  He  felt  that  he  would  drop  dead  the  next  moment 

34 


PROLOGUE 


unless  relief  came.  He  buried  his  face  in  her  lap  and 
sobbed  his  bitter  confession. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  die?"  he  asked. 

She  smiled: 

"No,  my  Boy,  you're  only  sunburned.  How  long 
were  you  naked  in  the  sun?" 

"From  'bout  ten  o'clock  till  nearly  sundown " 

He  moved  again  and  screamed  with  agony. 

The  mother  tenderly  undressed  the  little,  red,  swollen 
body.  The  rough  clothes  had  stuck  to  the  blistered 
skin  in  one  place  and  the  pain  was  so  frightful  he 
nearly  fainted  before  they  were  finally  removed. 

For  two  days  and  nights  she  never  left  his  side, 
holding  his  hand  to  give  him  courage  when  he  was 
compelled  to  move.  Almost  his  entire  body,  inch  by 
inch,  was  blistered.  She  covered  it  with  cream  and 
allowed  only  two  greased  linen  cloths  to  touch  him. 

On  the  second  day  as  he  lay  panting  for  breath 
and  holding  her  hand  with  feverish  grasp  he  looked 
into  her  pensive  grey  eyes  through  his  own  bleared 
and  bloodshot  with  pain  and  said  softly: 

"I'm  sorry,  Ma." 

She  pressed  his  hand: 

"It's  all  right,  my  Boy ;    your  mother  loves  you." 

"I'm  not  sorry  for  the  pain,"  he  gasped.  "What 
hurts  me  worse  is  that  you're  so  sweet  to  me!" 

The  dark  face  bent  and  kissed  his  trembling  lips: 

"It's  all  for  the  best.  You  couldn't  have  under 
stood  the  preacher  Sunday  when  he  took  the  text: 
'The  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against  Sisera.' 
You  learned  it  for  yourself  the  only  way  we  really 
learn  anything.  God's  in  the  wind  and  rain,  the  sun, 
the  storm.  All  nature  works  with  him.  You  can  easily 

85 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


fool  your  mother.  It's  not  what  you  seem  to  others ; 
it's  what  you  are  that  counts.  God  sees  and  knows. 
You  see  and  know  in  your  little  heart.  I  want  you  to 
be  a  great  man — only  a  good  man  can  ever  be  great." 

And  so  for  an  hour  she  poured  into  his  -/heart  her 
faith  in  God  and  His  glory  until  He  beca;.^  the  one 
power  fixed  forever  in  the  child's  imagination. 


VII 


The  Boy  lost  his  skin  but  grew  another  and  ~v 
dentally  absorbed  some  ideas  he  never  forgot. 

On  the  day  he  was  able  to  put  on  his  clothis; 
poured  down  rain  and  work  in  the  fields  was  'impossi 
ble.  A  sense  of  delicious  joy  filled  him.  He  worked 
because  he  had  to,  not  because  he  liked  it.  He  was 
too  proud  to  shirk,  too  brave  to  cry  when  every  nerve 
and  muscle  of  his  little  body  ached  with  mortal  weari 
ness,  but  he  hated  it. 

The  sun  rose  bright  and  warm  and  shone  clear  in 
the  Southern  sky  next  morning  before  he  was  called. 
He  climbed  down  the  ladder  from  his  loft  wondering 
what  marvellous  thing  had  happened  that  he  should 
be  sleeping  with  the  sun  already  high  in  the  heavens. 

"What's  the  matter,  Ma?"  he  asked  anxiously. 
"Why  didn't  you  call  me?" 

"It's  too  wet  to  plow.  Your  father's  going  to  chop 
wood  in  the  clearing.  He  wanted  you  to  pile  brush 
after  him,  but  I  asked  him  to  let  you  off  to  go  fishing 
for  me."- 

He  ate  breakfast  with  his  heart  beating  a  tattoo, 
rushed  into  the  garden,  dug  a  gourd  full  of  worms, 

36 


PROLOGUE 


drew  his  long  cane  rod  from  the  eaves  of  the  cabin, 
and  with  old  Boney  trotting  at  his  heels  was  soon 
on  his  way  to  a  deep  pool  in  the  bend  of  the  creek. 

Fishing  for  her!  His  mother  understood.  He  won 
dered  wh'  he  had  ever  been  fool  enough  to  disobey  her 
that  SUL...C*/.  'He  could  die  for  her  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

It  was  glorious  to  have  this  marvellous  day  of  spring 

all   his   own.      The  birds  were   singing  on  every  field 

and  hedge.     The  trees  flashed  their  polished  new  leaves. 

sweet  languor  of  the  South  was  in  the  air  and  he 

.t  it  in  with  deep  breaths  that  sent  the  joy  of  life 

0Jng  through  every  vein. 

-i?our  joyous  hours  flew  on  tireless  wings.  He  had 
caught  five  catfish  and  a  big  eel — more  than  enough 
for  a  good  meal  for  the  whole  family. 

He  hold  them  up  proudly.  How  his  mother's  eyes 
would  T-rparkle !  He  could  see  Sarah's  admiring  gaze 
and  hear  his  father's  good-natured  approval. 

He  had  just  struck  the  path  for  home  when  the 
forlorn  figure  of  a  rough  bearded  man  came  limping  to 
meet  him. 

He  stepped  aside  in  the  grass  to  let  him  pass.  But 
the  man  stopped  and  gazed  at  the  fish. 

"My,  my,  Sonny,  but  you've  got  a  fine  string  there !" 
he  exclaimed. 

"Pretty  good  for  one  day,"  the  Boy  proudly  an 
swered. 

"An'  just  ter  think  I  ain't  had  no  thin'  ter  eat  in 
'most  two  days." 

"Don't  you  live  nowhere?"  the  youngster  asked  in 
surprise. 

"I  used  ter  have  a  home  afore  the  war,  but  my 

37 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


folks  thought  I  wuz  dead  an'  moved  away.  I'm  tryin* 
ter  find  'em.  Hit's  a  hard  job  with  a  Britisher's  bullet 
still  a-pinchin'  me  in  the  leg." 

"Did  you  fight  with  General  Washington?" 

"Lordy,  no,  I  ain't  that  old,  ef  I  do  look  like  a 
scarecrow.  No,  I  fit  under  Old  Hickory  at  New  Or 
leans.  I  tell  ye,  Sonny,  them  Britishers  burnt  out 
Washington  fur  us  but  we  give  'em  a  taste  o'  fire 
at  New  Orleans  they  ain't  goin'  ter  fergit." 

"Did  we  lick  'em  good?" 

"Boy,  ye  ain't  never  heard  tell  er  sich  a  scrimmage 
— we  thrashed  'em  till  they  warn't  no  fight  in  'em,  an' 
they  scrambled  back  aboard  them  ships  an'  skeddad- 
dled  home.  Britishers  can't  fight  nohow.  We've  licked 
'em  twice  an'  we  kin  lick  'em  agin.  But  the  old  sol 
dier  that  does  the  fightin' — everybody  fergits  him !" 

The  Boy  looked  longingly  at  his  string  of  fish  for 
a  moment  with  the  pride  of  his  heart,  and  then  held 
up  his  treasure. 

"You  can  have  my  fish  if  ye  want  'em;  they'll  make 
you  a  nice  supper." 

The  old  soldier  stroked  the  tangled  hair  and  took 
his  string  of  fish. 

"You're  a  fine  boy!     I  won't  fergit  you,  Sonny!" 

The  words  comforted  him*until  he  neared  the  house. 
And  then  a  sense  of  bitter  loss  welled  up  in  spite  of  all. 

"Did  I  do  right,  Ma?"  he  asked  wistfully. 

She  placed  her  hand  on  his  forehead: 

"Yes — I'm  proud  of  you.  I  know  what  that  gift 
cost  a  boy's  heart.  It  was  big  because  it  was  all  you 
had  and  the  pride  of  your  soul  was  in  it." 

The  sense  of  loss  was  gone  and  he  was  rich  and 
happy  again. 

88 


PROLOGUE 


When  the  supper  was  over  and  they  sat  before  the 
flickering  firelight  he  asked  her  a  question  over  which 
his  mind  had  puzzled  since  he  left  the  old  soldier. 

"Why  is  it,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "British  soldiers 
can't  fight?" 

The   mother   smiled : 

"Who   said   they   couldn't  fight?" 

"The  old  soldier  I  gave  my  fish  to.  He  said  we 
just  made  hash  out  o'  them.  We've  licked  'em  twice 
and  we  can  do  it  again!" 

The  last  sentence  he  didn't  quote.  He  gave  it  as 
a  personal  opinion  based  on  established  facts. 

"We  didn't  win  because  the  British  couldn't  fight," 
the  mother  gravely  responded. 

"Then  why?"  he  persisted. 

"The  Lord  was  good  to  us." 

"How?" 

The  question  came  with  an  accent  of  indignation. 
Sometimes  he  couldn't  help  getting  cross  with  his 
mother  when  she  began  to  give  the  Lord  credit  for 
everything.  If  the  Lord  did  it  all  why  should  he  give 
his  string  of  fish  to  an  old  soldier! 

The  grey  eyes  looked  into  his  with  wistful  tender 
ness.  She  had  been  shocked  once  before  by  the  fear 
that  there  was  something  in  this  child's  eternal  why 
that  would  keep  him  out  of  the  church.  The  one  deep 
desire  of  her  heart  was  that  he  should  be  good. 

"Would  you  like  to  hear,"  she  began  softly,  "some 
thing  about  the  Revolution  which  my  old  school  teacher 
told  me  in  Virginia?" 

"Yes,  tell  me !"  he  answered  eagerly. 

"He  said  that  we  could  never  have  won  our  inde 
pendence  but  for  God.  We  didn't  win  because  British 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


soldiers  couldn't  fight.  We  held  out  for  ten  years 
because  we  outran  them.  We  ran  quicker,  covered 
more  ground,  got  further  into  the  woods  and  stayed 
there  longer  than  any  fighters  the  British  had  ever 
met  before.  That's  why  we  got  the  best  of  them. 
Our  men  who  fought  and  ran  away  lived  to  fight 
another  day.  General  Washington  was  always  great 
in  retreat.  He  never  fought  unless  he  was  ready  and 
could  choose  his  own  field.  He  waited  until  his  enemies 
were  in  snug  quarters  drinking  and  gambling,  and 
then  on  a  dark  night,  so  dark  and  cold  that  some 
of  his  own  men  would  freeze  to  death,  he  pushed 
across  a  river,  fell  on  them,  cut  them  to  pieces  and 
retreated. 

"The  number  of  men  he  commanded  was  so  small 
he  could  not  face  his  foes  in  the  open  if  he  could 
avoid  it.  His  men  were  poorly  armed,  poorly  drilled, 
half-clothed  and  half-starved  at  times.  The  British 
troops  were  the  best  drilled  and  finest  fighting  men 
of  the  world  in  their  day,  armed  with  good  guns,  well 
fed,  well  clothed,  and  well  paid." 

She  paused  and  smiled  at  the  memory  of  her  teach 
er's  narrative. 

"What  do  you  suppose  happened  on  one  of  our 
battlefields?"  " 

"I  dunno — what?" 

"When  the  Red-coats  charged,  our  boys  ran  at  the 
first  crack  of  a  gun.  They  ran  so  well  that  they  all 
got  away  except  one  little  fellow  who  had  a  game 
leg.  He  stumbled  and  fell  in  a  hole.  A  big  British 
soldier  raised  a  musket  to  brain  him.  The  little 
fellow  looked  up  and  cried:  'All  right.  Kill  away> 
ding  ye — ye  won't  get  much !' 

40 


PROLOGUE 


"The  Britisher  laughed,  picked  him  up,  brushed  his 
clothes  and  told  him  to  go  home." 

The  Boy  laughed  again  and  again. 

"He  was  a  spunky  one  anyhow,  wasn't  he?" 

"Yes,"  the  mother  nodded,  "that's  why  the  Red 
coat  let  him  go.  And  we  never  could  have  endured 
if  God  hadn't  inspired  one  man  to  hold  fast  when  other 
hearts  had  failed." 

"And  who  was  he?"  the  Boy  broke  in. 

"General  Washington.  At  Valley  Forge  our  cause 
was  lost  but  for  him.  Our  men  were  not  paid.  They 
could  get  no  clothes,  they  were  freezing  and  starving. 
They  quit  and  went  home  in  hundreds  and  gave  up  in 
despair.  And  then,  Boy " 

Her  voice  dropped  to  a  tense  whisper: 

"General  Washington  fell  on  his  knees  and  prayed 
until  he  saw  the  shining  face  of  God  and  got  his 
answer.  Next  day  he  called  his  ragged,  hungry  men 
together  and  said: 

"  'Soldiers,  though  all  my  armies  desert,  the  war 
shall  go  on.  If  I  must,  I'll  gather  my  faithful  fol 
lowers  in  Virginia,  retreat  to  the  mountains  and  fight 
until  our  country  is  free!' 

"His  words  cheered  the  despairing  men  and  they 
stood  by  him.  We  were  saved  at  last  because  help 
came  in  time.  Lord  Cornwallis  had  laid  the  South 
in  ashes,  and  camped  at  Yorktown,  his  army  of  veter 
ans  laden  with  spoils.  He  was  only  waiting  for  the 
transports  from  New  York  to  take  his  victorious  men 
North,  join  the  army  there  and  end  the  war,  and 
then " 

She  drew  a  deep  breath  and  her  eyes  sparkled: 

"And  then,  Boy,  it  happened — the  miracle!  Into 

41 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


the  Chesapeake  Bay  in  Virginia,  three  big  ships 
dropped  anchor  at  the  mouth  of  the  York  River.  Our 
people  on  the  shore  thought  they  were  the  transports 
and  that  the  end  had  come.  But  the  ships  were  too 
far  away  to  make  out  their  flags,  and  so  they  sent 
swift  couriers  across  the  Peninsula  to  see  if  there  were 
any  signs  in  the  roadstead  at  Hampton.  There — 
Glory  to  God!  lay  a  great  fleet  flying  the  flag  of 
France.  The  French  had  loaned  us  twenty  millions 
of  dollars,  and  sent  their  navy  and  their  army  to 
help  us.  Had  the  Lord  sent  down  a  host  from  the 
sky  we  couldn't  have  been  more  surprised.  They 
landed,  joined  with  General  Washington's  ragged  men, 
and  closed  in  on  Cornwallis.  Surprised  and  trapped 
he  surrendered  and  we  won. 

"But  there  never  was  a  year  before  that,  my  Boy, 
that  we  were  strong  enough  to  resist  the  British  army 
had  the  mother  country  sent  a  real  general  here  to 
command  her  troops." 

"Why  didn't   she?"   the  Boy  interrupted. 

Again    the   mother's    voice    dropped    low: 

"Because  God  wouldn't  let  her — that's  the  only 
reason.  If  Lord  Clive  had  ever  landed  on  our  shores, 
Washington  might  now  be  sleeping  in  a  traitor's 
grave." 

The  voice  again  became  soft  and  dreamy — almost 
inaudible. 

"And  he  didn't  come?"  the  Boy  whispered. 

"No.  On  the  day  he  was  to  sail  he  put  the  papers 
in  his  pocket,  went  into  his  room,  locked  the  door 
and  blew  his  own  brains  out.  This  is  God's  country, 
my  son.  He  gave  us  freedom.  He  has  great  plans 
for  us." 


PROLOGUE 


The  fire  flickered  low  and   the  Boy's   eyes   glowed 
with  a  strange  intensity. 


VIII 


A  barbecue,  with  political  speaking,  was  held  at 
the  village  ten  miles  away.  The  family  started  at 
sunrise.  The  day  was  an  event  in  the  lives  of  every 
man,  woman  and  child  within  a  radius  of  twenty  miles. 
Many  came  as  far  as  thirty  miles  and  walked  the 
whole  distance.  Before  nine  o'clock  a  crowd  of  two 
thousand  had  gathered. 

The  dark,  lithe  young  mother  who  led  her  boy  by 
the  hand  down  the  crowded  aisle  of  the  improvised 
brush  arbor  that  day  performed  a  deed  which  was 
destined  to  change  the  history  of  the  world. 

The  speaker  who  held  the  crowd  spellbound  for 
two  hours  was  Henry  Clay.  The  Boy  not  only  heard 
an  eloquent  orator.  His  spirit  entered  for  all  time 
into  fellowship  with  a  great  human  soul. 

In  words  that  throbbed  with  passion,  he  pictured 
the  coming  glory  of  a  mighty  nation  whose  shores 
would  be  washed  by  two  oceans,  whose  wealth  and 
manhood  would  be  the  hope  and  inspiration  of  the 
world.  Never  before  had  words  been  given  such  wings. 
The  ringing  tones  found  the  Boy's  soul  and  set  his 
brain  on  fire.  A  big  idea  was  born  within  his  breast. 
This  was  his  country.  His  feet  pressed  its  soil.  Its 
hills  and  plains,  its  rivers  and  seas  were  his.  His 
hands  would  help  to  build  this  vision  of  a  great  spirit 
into  the  living  thing.  He  breathed  softly  and  his  eyes 
sparkled.  When  the  crowd  cheered,  he  leaped  to  his 

43 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


feet,  swung  his  little  cap  into  the  air  and  shouted  with 
all  his  might.  When  the  last  glowing  picture  of  the 
peroration  faded  into  a  silence  that  could  be  felt, 
and  the  tumult  had  died  away,  he  saw  men  and  women 
crowding  around  the  orator  to  shake  his  hand. 

"Take  me,  Ma!"  he  whispered.  "I  want  to  see  him 
close!" 

The  mother  lifted  him  in  her  arms  above  the  crowd, 
pressed  forward,  and  the  Boy's  shining  eyes  caught 
those  of  the  brilliant  statesman.  Over  the  heads  of 
the  men  by  his  side  the  orator  extended  his  hand  and 
grasped  the  trembling  outstretched  fingers. 

He  smiled  and  nodded,  that  was  all.  The  Boy  un 
derstood.  From  that  moment  he  had  an  ideal  leader 
whose  words  were  inspired. 

The  mother's  dark  face  was  lit  for  a  moment  with 
tender  pride.  She  made  no  effort  to  reach  the  orator's 
side.  It  was  enough  that  she  had  seen  the  flash  from 
her  Boy's  eyes.  She  was  content.  The  day  was  filled 
with  a  great  joy. 

The  summer  camp  meetings  began  the  following 
week.  The  grounds  were  located  a  mile  from  the 
straggling  little  village  which  was  the  center  of  the 
county's  activities.  All  religious  denominations  used 
the  spacious  auditorium  for  their  services.  The 
Methodists  camped  there  an  entire  month.  The  Bap 
tists  stayed  but  two  weeks.  The  Baptist  temperament 
frowned  on  the  social  frivolities  which  were  insepara- 
able  from  these  long  intimate  associations  at  close 
quarters.  The  more  volatile  temperament  of  the 
Methodists  revelled  in  them,  and  Methodism  grew  with 
astounding  rapidity  under  the  system. 

The  auditorium  was  simply  a  huge  quadrangular 

44 


PROLOGUE 


shed  with  board  roof  upheld  by  cedar  posts.  At  one 
end  of  the  shed  stood  the  platform  on  which  was 
built  the  pulpit,  a  square  box-like  structure  about  four 
feet  high.  The  seats  were  made  of  rough-hewn  half 
logs  set  on  pegs  driven  in  augur  holes.  There  were 
no  backs  to  them.  A  single  wide  aisle  led  from  the 
end  facing  the  pulpit,  and  two  narrow  ones  inter-' 
sected  the  main  aisle  at  the  centre. 

In  front  of  the  pulpit  were  placed  the  mourner's 
benches  facing  the  three  sides  of  the  space  left  for 
the  free  movement  of  the  mourners  under  the  stress 
of  religious  emotion. 

The  Boy's  mother  and  father  were  devout  members 
of  the  Baptist  Church,  but  they  were  not  demonstra-  • 
tive.  They  modestly  and  reverently  took  their  seats  in 
an  inconspicuous  position  about  midway  the  building, 
entering  from  one  of  the  small  aisles  on  the  side.  The 
Boy  had  often  been  to  a  regular  church  service  before, 
but  this  was  his  first  camp  meeting. 

Four  preachers  sat  in  grim  silence  behind  the  pul 
pit's  solid  box  front.  The  Boy  could  just  see  the 
tops  of  their  heads  over  the  board  that  held  the  big 
gilt-edged  Bible. 

The  entire  first  two  days  and  nights  were  given  to 
a  series  of  terrific  sermons  on  Death,  Hell,  and  the 
Judgment,  with  a  brief  glimpse  of  the  pearly  gates 
of  Heaven  and  a  few  strains  from  the  golden  harps 
inside  for  the  damned  to  hear  by  way  of  contrast. 
The  first  purpose  of  the  preachers  was  to  arouse  a  deep 
under-current  of  religious  emotional  excitement  that  at 
the  proper  moment  would  explode  and  sweep  the  crowd 
with  resistless  fire.  Usually  the  fuse  was  timed  to 
explode  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day.  Sometimes, 

45 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


when  sermons  of  extraordinary  power  had  followed 
each  other  in  rapid  succession,  the  fire  broke  out  by 
a  sort  of  spontaneous  combustion  on  the  night  of  the 
second  day. 

It  did  so  this  time.  The  mother  had  no  trouble  in 
keeping  the  Boy  by  her  side  through  these  first  two 
days.  He  felt  instinctively  the  growing  emotional 
tension  about  him,  and  knew  in  his  bones  that  some 
thing  would  break  loose  soon.  He  was  keyed  to  a  high 
pitch  of  interest  to  see  just  what  it  would  be  like. 

The  storm  broke  in  the  middle  of  the  second  ser 
mon  on  the  second  night.  The  preacher  had  worked 
himself  into  a  frenzy  of  emotional  excitement.  His 
arms  were  waving  over  his  head,  his  eyes  blazing,  his 
feet  stamping,  his  voice  screaming  in  anguish  as  he 
described  the  agony  of  a  soul  lost  forever  in  the  seeth 
ing  caldron  of  eternal  hell  fire ! 

A  tremulous  startled  moan,  half-wail,  half-scream 
came  from  a  girl  just  in  front  of  the  Boy,  as  she 
dropped  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?"  he  whispered.  "Has 
she  got  a  pain?" 

His  mother  pressed  his  hand : 

"Sh !" 

And  then  the  storm  broke.  From  every  direction 
came  the  startled  cries  of  long  pent  terror  and  anguish. 
The  girl  staggered  to  her  feet  and  started  stumbling 
down  the  aisle  to  the  mourners'  bench  without  invita 
tion,  and  from  every  row  of  seats  they  tumbled,  crowd 
ing  on  her  heels,  sobbing,  wailing,  screaming,  groaning* 

The  preacher  ceased  to  talk  and,  in  a  high  tremu 
lous  voice,  that  rang  through  the  excited  crowd  as 
the  peal  of  the  Archangel's  trumpet,  began  to  sing : 

46 


PROLOGUE 


"Come  humble  sinners  in  whose  breasts 
A  thousand  thoughts  revolve!" 

The  crowd  rose  instinctively  and  all  who  were  not 
mourning,  joined  in  the  half-savage,  terror-stricken 
wail  of  the  song.  The  sinners  that  hadn't  given  up 
at  the  first  break  of  the  storm  could  not  resist  the  thrill 
of  this  wild  music.  One  by  one  they  pushed  their  way 
through  the  crowd,  found  the  aisle  and  staggered 
blindly  to  the  front. 

The  Boy  noticed  curiously  that  it  seemed  to  be  the 
rule  for  them  to  completely  cover  their  streaming 
eyes  with  a  handkerchief  or  with  the  bare  hands 
and  go  it  blindly  for  the  mourners'  benches.  If  they 
missed  the  way  and  butted  into  anything,  a  church 
member  kindly  took  them  by  the  arm  and  guided 
them  to  a  vacant  place  where  they  dropped  on  their 
knees. 

The  Boy  had  leaped  on  the  bench  and  stood  beside 
his  mother  to  get  a  better  view  of  the  turmoil.  He 
couldn't  keep  his  eyes  off  a  tall,  red-headed,  thick- 
bearded  man  just  across  the  aisle  three  rows  behind 
who  kept  twitching  his  face,  looking  toward  the  door 
and  struggling  against  the  impulse  to  follow  the 
mourners.  Presently  he  broke  down  with  a  loud  cry: 

"Lord,  have  mercy !" 

He  placed  his  hands  over  his  face  and  started  on 
a  run  to  the  front. 

The  Boy  giggled,  and  his  mother  pinched  him. 

"Did  ye  see  that   red-headed   feller,  Ma,"  he  whis 
pered.      "He  didn't  do  fair.     He  peeked  through  his  * 
fingers — I  saw  his  eyes  !" 

"Sh !" 

47 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  preachers  had  come  down  from  the  pulpit  now 
and  stood  over  the  wailing  prostrated  mourners  and 
exhorted  them  to  repent  and  believe  before  it  was 
forever  and  eternally  too  late.  Three  of  them  were 
talking  at  the  same  time  to  different  groups  of  mourn 
ers.  The  louder  they  exhorted  the  louder  the  sinners 
cried.  The  fourth  preacher  walked  down  the  aisle 
searching  for  those  who  were  yet  hardening  their  hearts 
and  stiffening  their  necks.  He  paused  beside  a  prim 
little  old  maid  who  had  lately  arrived  from  Tidewater 
Virginia.  Her  bright  eyes  were  dry. 

"Dear  lady,  are  you  a  child  of  God?"  the  preacher 
cried. 

The  prim  figured  stiffened  indignantly: 
*      "No,   sir !     I'm  an  Episcopalian !" 

The  preacher  groaned  and  passed  on  and  the  Boy 
stuffed  his  fist  in  his  mouth. 

For  half  an  hour  the  roar  of  the  conflict  was  in 
cessant,  and  its  violence  indescribable.  It  was  broken 
now  and  then  by  a  kindly  soul  among  the  elderly  women 
raising  a  sweet  old-fashioned  hymn. 

Suddenly  an  exhorter  threw  his  hands  above  his  head 
and,  in  a  voice  that  soared  above  the  roar  of  mourners 
and  their  attendants,  cried : 

"Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  that  taketh  away  the 
sins  of  the  world!" 

Quick  as  a  flash  came  an  answering  shout  from  the 
red-headed  man  who  leaped  to  his  feet  and  with  wide 
staring  eyes  looked  up  at  the  roof. 

"I  see  him!     I  see  Jesus  up  a  tree!" 

A  fat  woman  lifted  her  head  and  shouted: 

"Hold  him  till  I  get  there !" 

And   she   started   for   the   red-headed   man.      There 

48 


PROLOGUE 


was  a  single  moment  of  strange  silence  and  the  Boy 
laughed  aloud. 

His  mother  caught  and  shook  him  violently.  He 
crammed  his  little  fist  again  into  his  mouth,  but  the 
stopper  wouldn't  hold. 

He  dropped  to  his  seat  to  keep  the  people  from 
seeing  him,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  laughed 
in  smothered  giggles  in  spite  of  all  his  mother  could  do. 

At  last  he  whispered: 

"Take  me  out  quick!  I'm  goin'  to  bust — I'll  bust 
wide  open  I  tell  ye!" 

She  rose  sternly,  seized  his  arm  and  led  him  a  half 
mile  into  the  woods.  He  kept  looking  back  and 
laughing  softly. 

She  gazed  at  him  sorrowfully: 

"I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Boy!  How  could  you  do 
such  a  thing!" 

"I  just  couldn't  help  it!" 

He  sat  down  on  a  stone  and  laughed  again. 

"What  makes  the  fools  holler  so?"  he  asked  through 
his  tears. 

"They  are  praying  God  to  forgive  their  sins." 

"But  why  holler  so  loud?  He  ain't  deaf — is  He? 
You  said  that  God's  in  the  sun  and  wind  and  dew  and 
rain — in  the  breath  we  breathe.  Ain't  He  everywhere 
then?  Why  do  they  holler  at  Him?" 

The  mother  turned  away  to  hide  a  smile  she  couldn't 
keep  back,  and  a  cloud  overspread  her  dark  face. 
Surely  this  was  an  evil  sign — this  spirit  of  irreverent 
levity  in  the  mind  of  a  child  so  young.  What  could 
it  mean?  She  had  forgotten  that  she  had  been  teach 
ing  him  to  think,  and  didn't  know,  perhaps,  that  he 
who  thinks  must  laugh  or  die. 

49 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


After  that  she  let  him  spend  long  hours  at  the  spring 
playing  with  boys  and  girls  of  his  age.  He  didn't 
go  into  the  meetings  again.  But  he  enjoyed  the  sea 
son.  The  watermelons,  muskmelons,  and  ginger  cakes 
were  the  best  he  had  ever  eaten. 


IX 


During  the  Christmas  holidays  the  father  got  ready 
for  a  coon  hunt  in  which  the  Boy  should  see  his  first 
battle  royal  in  the  world  of  sport. 

Dennis  came  over  and  brought  four  extra  dogs,  two 
of  his  own  and  two  which  he  had  borrowed  for  the 
holidays. 

A  sudden  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  old  Boney 
— short  for  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  He  understood  the 
talk  about  coons  as  clearly  as  if  he  could  speak  the 
English  language.  He  was  in  a  quiver  of  eager  ex 
citement.  He  knew  from  the  Boy's  talk  that  he  was 
going,  too.  He  wagged  his  tail,  pushed  his  warm 
nose  under  his  little  friend's  arm,  whining  and  trem 
bling  while  he  tried  to  explain  what  it  meant  to  strike 
a  coon's  trail  in  the  deep  night,  chase  him  over  miles 
of  woods  and  swamps  and  field,  tree  him  and  fight  it 
out,  a  battle  to  the  death  between  dog  and  beast! 

At  two  o'clock,  before  day,  his  father's  voice  called 
and  in  a  jiffy  he  was  down  the  ladder,  his  eyes  shining. 
He  had  gone  to  sleep  with  his  clothes  on  and  lost 
no  time  in  dressing. 

Without  delay  the  start  was  made.  Down  the  dim 
pathway  to  the  creek  and  then  along  its  banks  for 
two  miles,  its  laughing  waters  rippling  soft  music  amid 

50 


PROLOGUE 


the  shadows,  or  gleaming  white  and  mirror-like  in  the 
starlit  open  spaces. 

In  half  an  hour  the  stars  were  obscured  by  a  thin 
veil  of  fleecy  clouds,  and,  striking  no  trail  in  the  bot 
toms,  they  turned  to  the  big  tract  of  woods  on  the 
hills  and  plunged  straight  into  their  depths  for  two 
miles. 

"Hush!" 

Tom  suddenly  stopped: 

Far  off  to  the  right  came  the  bark  of  a  dog  on 
the  run. 

"Ain't  that  old  Boney's  voice?"  the  father  asked. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  the  Boy  answered. 

The  note  of  wild  savage  music  was  one  he  had  never 
heard  before. 

"Yes  it  was,  too,"  was  the  emphatic  decision.  He 
squared  his  broad  shoulders  and  gave  the  hunter's 
shout  of  answer-joy  to  the  dog's  call. 

Never  had  the  Boy  heard  such  a  shout  from  human 
lips.  It  sent  shivers  down  his  spine. 

The  dog  heard  and  louder  came  the  answering  note, 
a  deep  tremulous  boom  through  the  woods  that  meant 
to  the  older  man's  trained  ear  that  he  was  on  the  run. 

"That's  old  Boney  shore's  yer  born!"  the  father 
cried,  "an'  he  ain't  got  no  doubts  'bout  hit  nother. 
He's  got  his  head  in  the  air.  The  trail's  so  hot  he 
don't  have  ter  nose  the  ground.  You'll  hear  some- 
thin'  in  a  minute  when  the  younger  pups  git  to  him." 

Two  hounds  suddenly  opened  with  long  quivering 
wails. 

"Thar's  my  dogs — they've  hit  it  now !"  Dennis  cried 
excitedly. 

Another  hound  joined  the  procession,  then  another 

51 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


and  another,  and  in  two  minutes  the  whole  pack  of 
eight  were  in  full  cry. 

Again  the  hunter's  deep  voice  rang  his  wild  cheer 
through  the  woods  and  every  dog  raised  his  answering 
cry  a  note  higher. 

"Ain't  that  music!"  Tom  cried  in  ecstacy. 

They  stood  and  listened.  The  dogs  were  still  in 
the  woods  and  with  each  yelp  were  coming  nearer. 
Evidently  the  trail  led  toward  them,  but  in. the  rear 
and  almost  toward  the  exact  spot  at  which  they  had 
entered  the  forest. 

"Just  listen  at  old  Boney!"  the  Boy  cried.  "I  can 
tell  him  now.  He  can  beat  'em  all !" 

Loud  and  clear  above  the  chorus  of  the  others  rang 
the  long  savage  boom  of  Boney's  voice,  quivering  with 
passion,  defiant,  daring,  sure  of  victory!  It  came  at 
regular  intervals  as  if  to  measure  the  miles  that  separ 
ated  him  from  the  battle  he  smelled  afar.  He  was 
far  in  the  lead.  He  was  past-master  of  this  sport. 
The  others  were  not  in  his  class. 

The  Boy's  heart  swelled  with  pride. 

"Old  Boney's  showin'  'em  all  the  way!"  he  ex 
claimed  triumphantly. 

"Yer  can  bet  he  always  does  that,  Sonny!"  the 
father  answered.  "That's  a  hot  trail.  Nigh  ez  I  can 
figger  we're  goin'  ter  have  some  fun.  There's  more'n 
one  coon  travelin'  over  that  ground." 

"How  can  you  tell?"  Dennis  asked  incredulously. 

"Hit's  too  easy  fer  the  other  pups — they'd  lose  the 
scent  now  an'  then  ef  they  weren't  but  one.  They 
ain't  lost  it  a  minute  since  they  struck  it — Lord,  jest 
listen!" 

He  paused  and  held  his  breath. 


PROLOGUE 


"Did  ye  ever  hear  anything  like  hit  on  this  yearth !" 
Dennis  cried. 

Every  dog  was  opening  now  at  the  top  of  his  voice 
at  regular  intervals,  the  swing  and  leap  of  their  bodies 
over  the  brush  and  around  the  trees  registering  in 
each  stirring  note. 

Again  Tom  gave  a  shout  of  approval. 

The  sound  of  the  leader's  voice  suddenly  flattened 
and  faded. 

"By  Gum!"  the  old  hunter  cried,  "they've  left  the 
woods,  struck  that  field  an'  makin'  for  the  creek!  Ye 
won't  need  that  axe  ter-night,  Dennis." 

"Why?" 

"Wait  an'  see !"  was  the  short  answer. 

They  hurried  from  the  woods  and  had  scarcely 
reached  the  edge  of  the  field  when  suddenly  old  Boney's 
cry  stopped  short  and  in  a  moment  the  others  were 
silent. 

"Good  Lord,  they've  lost  it!"  Dennis  groaned. 

And  then  came  the  quick,  sharp,  fierce  bark  of  the 
leader  announcing  that  the  quarry  had  been  located. 

Tom  gave  a  yell  of  triumph  and  started  on  a  run 
for  the  spot. 

"Up  one  o'  them  big  sycamores  in  the  edge  o'  that 
water  I'll  bet!"  Dennis  wailed. 

"You'll  need  no  axe,"  was  the  older  man's  short 
comment. 

X 

They  pushed  their  way  rapidly  through  the  cane 
to  the  banks  of  the  creek  and  found  the  dogs  scratch 
ing  with  might  and  main  straight  down  into  the  sand 
about  ten  feet  from  the  water's  edge. 

"Well,  I'll  be  doggoned,"  Dennis  cried,  "if  I  ever 
seed  anything  like  that  afore!  They've  gone  plum 

53 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


crazy.  They  ain't  no  hole  here.  A  coon  can't  jist 
drap  inter  the  ground  without  a  hole." 

The  old  hunter  laughed: 

"No,  but  a  coon  mought  learn  somethin'  from  a 
beaver  now  an'  then  an'  locate  the  door  to  his  house 
under  the  water  line  an'  climb  up  here  ter  find  a  safe 
place,  couldn't  he?" 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  Dennis  sneered. 

"You'll  have  ter  go  to  the  house  an'  git  a  spade," 
Tom  said  finally.  "It'll  take  one  ter  dig  a  hole  big 
enough  ter  ever  persuade  one  er  these  dogs  ter  put 
his  nose  in  that  den.  Hit  ain't  more'n  a  mile  ter  the 
house — hurry  back." 

Dennis  started  on  a  run. 

"Don't  yer  let  'em  out  an'  start  that  fight  afore 
I  git  here!"  he  called. 

"You'll  see  it  all,"  Tom  reassured  him. 

He  made  the  dogs  stop  scratching  and  lie  down  to 
rest. 

"Jest  save  yer  strenk,  boys,"  Tom  cried.  "Yer'll 
need  it  presently." 

They  sat  down,  the  father  lit  his  pipe  and  told  the 
Boy  the  story  of  a  great  fight  he  had  witnessed  on 
such  a  creek  bank  once  before  in  his  life. 

Day  was  dawning  and  the  eastern  sky  redden 
ing. 

The  Boy  stamped  on  the  solid  ground  and  couldn't 
believe  it  possible  that  any  dog  could  smell  game 
through  six  feet  of  earth. 

He  lifted  Boney's  long  nose  and  looked  at  it  curi 
ously.  His  wonderful  nostrils  were  widely  distended 
and  though  he  lay  quite  still  in  the  sand  on  the  edge  of 
the  hole  his  muscles  were  quivering  with  excitement 

54 


PROLOGUE 

and  his  wistful  hound  eyes  had  in  them  now  the  red 
glare  of  coming  battle, 

It  was  quick  work  when  Dennis  arrived  to  throw 
the  sand  and  soft  earth  away  and  open  a  hole  five  feet 
in  depth  and  of  sufficient  width  to  allow  all  the  dogs  to 
get  foothold  inside. 

Suddenly  the  spade  crashed  through  an  opening  be 
low  and  the  rasp  of  sharp  desperate  teeth  and  claws 
rang  against  its  polished  surface. 

"Did  you  hear  that?"  Tom  laughed. 

Another  spadeful  out  and  they  could  be  plainly 
seen.  How  many  it  was  impossible  to  tell,  but  three 
pairs  of  glowing  bloodshot  eyes  in  the  shadows  showed 
plainly. 

Tom  straightened  his  massive  figure  and  gave  a 
shout  to  the  dogs.  They  all  danced  around  the  upper 
rim  of  the  hole  and  barked  with  fierce  boastful  yelps, 
but  not  one  would  venture  his  nose  within  two  feet  of 
those  grim  shining  eyes. 

"Well,  Dennis,"  Tom  sighed,  "I  reckon  I'll  have 
ter  shove  you  down  thar  an'  hold  ye  by  the  heels  while 
yer  pull  one  of  'em  out!" 

"I'll  be  doggoned  ef  yer  do !"  he  remarked  with 
emphasis. 

Tom  laughed.  "You  wuz  afeared  ye  wouldn't  git 
here  in  time  ye  know." 

"Oh,  I'm  in  time  all  right!" 

The  hunter  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  gazed 
at  the  warriors  below. 

"Waal,  we'll  try  tcr  git  a  dog  ter  yank  one  of  'em 
out  an'  then  they'll  all  come.  But  I  have  my  doubts. 
I  don't  believe,  that  Godamighty  ever  yet  built  a  dog 
that'll  stick  his  nose  in  that  hole.  Hit  takes  three 

55 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


dogs  ter  kill  one  coon  in  a  fair  fight.  Old  Boney's  the 
only  pup  I  ever  seed  do  it  by  hisself.  But  it's  askiii* 
too  much  o'  him  ter  stick  his  nose  in  a  place  like 
that  with  three  of  'em  lookin'  right  at  him  ready 
ter  tear  his  eyes  out.  But  they  ain't  nothin'  like 
tryin' " 

He  paused  and  looked  at  the  old  warrior  of  a  hun 
dred  bloody  fields,  pointed  at  the  bottom  of  the  hole 
and  in  stern  command  shouted: 

"Fetch  'em  out,  Bone!" 

With  a  deep  growl  the  faithful  old  soldier  sprang  to 
the  front.  With  teeth  shining  in  white  gleaming  rows 
he  scrambled  within  a  foot  of  the  opening  of  the  den, 
circled  it  twice,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  flashing  lights 
below.  They  followed  his  every  move.  He  tried  the 
stratagem  of  right  and  left  flank  movements,  but  the 
space  was  too  narrow.  He  dashed  straight  toward  the 
opening  once  with  a  loud  angry  cry,  hoping  to  get  the 
flash  of  a  coward's  back.  He  met  three  double  rows  of 
white  needle-like  teeth  daring  him  to  come  on. 

He  squatted  flat  on  his  belly  and  growled  with  des 
perate  fury,  but  he  wouldn't  go  closer.  The  hunter 
urged  in  vain. 

"Hit's  no  use!"  he  cried  at  last.  "Jest  ez  well  axe 
er  dog  ter  walk  into  a  den  er  lions.  I  don't  blame 
him." 

The  Boy's  pride  was  hurt. 

"I  can  make  him  bring  one  out,"  he  said. 

Tom  shook  his  head: 

"Not  much.     Less  see  ye?" 

The  Boy  stepped  down  to  the  dog's  side. 

"Look  out,  ye  fool,  don't  let  yer  foot  slip  in  thar!" 
his  father  warned. 

56 


.__  PROLOGUE 

The  Boy  knelt  beside  the  dog,  patted  his  back  and 
began  to  talk  to  him  in  low  tense  tones: 

"Fetch  'im  out,  Bone !  Go  after  'm !  Sick  'em,  boy, 
sick  'em!" 

Closer  and  closer  the  brave  old  fighter  edged  his 
way,  only  a  low  mad  growl  answering  to  the  Boy's 
urging.  His  eyes  were  blazing  now  in  the  red  rays 
of  the  rising  sun  like  two  balls  of  fire.  With  a  sudden 
savage  plunge  he  hurled  himself  into  the  den  and 
quick  as  a  flash  of  lightning  his  short  hairy  neck  gave 
a  flirt,  and  a  coon  as  large  as  one  of  the  hounds 
whizzed  ten  feet  into  the  air,  and,  with  his  white  teeth 
shining,  struck  the  ground,  lighting  squarely  on  his 
feet.  A  hound  dashed  for  him  and  one  slap  from  the 
long  sharp  claws  sent  him  howling  and  bleeding  into 
the  canes. 

But  old  Boney  had  watched  him  in  the  air,  and, 
circling  the  pack  that  faced  the  coon,  with  a  quick 
leap  had  downed  him.  Then  every  dog  was  with  him 
and  the  battle  was  on.  Eight  dogs  to  one  coon  and  yet 
so  sharp  were  his  claws,  so  keen  the  steel-like  points 
of  his  teeth,  he  sometimes  had  four  dogs  rolling  in 
agony  beside  the  growling  mass  of  fur  and  teeth  and 
nails. 

The  fight  had  scarcely  begun  when  one  of  the  re 
maining  coons  leaped  out  of  the  den.  Tom's  watch 
ful  eye  had  seen  him.  He  pulled  three  dogs  from  the 
first  battle  group  and  hurled  them  on  the  new  fighter. 
He  had  scarcely  started  this  struggle  when  the  third 
sprang  to  the  top  of  the  earthen  breastwork,  surveyed 
the  field  and  with  sullen  deliberation,  trotted  to  the 
water's  edge,  jumped  in  and,  placing  two  paws  on 
a  swaying  limb,  dared  any  dog  to  come. 

57 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Here  was  work  for  the  veteran !  Boney  was  the  only 
dog  in  the  pack  who  would  dare  accept  that  challenge. 
Tom  choked  him  off  the  first  coon,  pulled  him  to  the 
bank  and  showed  him  his  enemy  in  the  water.  He 
looked  just  a  moment  at  the  snarling,  daring  mouth 
and  made  the  plunge. 

The  boy  had  followed  the  dog  and  watched  with 
bated  breath.  He  circled  the  coon  twice,  swimming 
in  swift  graceful  curves.  But  his  enemy  was  too 
shrewd.  A  flank  movement  was  impossible.  The  coon's 
fierce  mouth  was  squarely  facing  him  at  every  turn 
and  the  dog  plunged  straight  on  his  foe. 

To  his  horror  the  Boy  saw  the  fangs  sink  into 
his  friend's  head,  four  sets  of  sharp  claws  circle  his 
neck,  a  tense  grey  ball  of  fur  hanging  its  dead  weight 
below.  The  water  ran  red  for  a  moment  as  both 
slowly  sank  to  the  bottom. 

Eyes  wide  with  anguish  he  heard  his  father  cry: 

"By  the  Lord,  he'll  kill  that  dog  shore — he's  a 
goner !" 

"No,  he  won't  neither !"  the  Boy  shouted,  leaping 
into  the  water  where  he  saw  them  go  down. 

Before  his  father  could  warn  him  of  the  danger  his 
head  disappeared  in  the  deep  still  eddy. 

"Look  out  for  us,  Dennis,  with  a.  pole  I'm  goin' 
ter  dive  fer  'em !" 

In  a  moment  they  came  to  the  surface,  the  man 
holding  the  Boy,  the  Boy  grasping  his  dog,  the  coon 
fastened  to  the  dog's  head. 

"Well,  don't  that  beat  the  devil!"  Tom  laughed, 
as  he  carried  them  to  a  little  rocky  island  in  the  middle 
of  the  creek. 

The  Boy  intent  on  saving  his  dog  had  held  his 

58 


PROLOGUE 


breath  and  was  not  even  strangled.  The  dog  had 
buried  his  nose  in  the  coon's  throat  and  was  chewing 
and  choking  with  savage  determination. 

Tom  stood  over  them  now  on  the  little  island  with 
its  smooth  stone-paved  battle  arena  ringed  with  the 
music  of  laughing  waters.  He  threw  both  hands 
above  his  shaggy  head  and  yelled  himself  hoarse — the 
wild  cry  of  the  hunter's  soul  in  delirious  joy. 

"Yaaaiih!     Yaaaiiih!" 

A  moment's  pause,  and  then  the  low  snarl  and  growl 
and  clash  of  tooth  and  claw!  Again  the  hunter's 
gnarled  hands  flew  over  his  head. 

"Yaaaiili!     Yaaaaiiih!     Yaaiih!      Yaaaaiiiihhh!!" 

On  the  shore  Dennis  stood  first  over  one  group  of 
swirling,  rolling,  snarling  brutes,  and  then  over  the 
other,  yelling  and  cheering. 

The  coon  on  the  island  suddenly  broke  his  assail 
ant's  death-like  grip,  and,  with  a  quick  leap,  reached 
the  water.  Boney  was  on  him  in  a  moment  and  down 
they  went  beneath  the  surface  again. 

The  Boy  sprang  to  the  rescue. 

His  father  brushed  him  roughly  aside: 

"Keep  out!  I'll  git  'em!" 

Three  times  the  coon  made  the  dash  for  deep  water 
and  three  times  Tom  carried  both  dog  and  coon  back 
to  the  little  island  yelling  his  battle  cry  anew. 

The  smooth  stones  began  to  show  red.  Fur  and 
dog  hair  flew  in  little  tufts  and  struck  the  ground, 
sometimes  with  the  flat  splash  of  red  flesh. 

The  Boy  frowned  and  his  lips  quivered.  At  last  he 
could  hold  in  no  longer.  Through  chattering  teeth 
he  moaned: 

"He'll  kill  Boney,  Pa!" 

59 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Let  him  alone !"  was  the  sharp  command.  "I  never 
see  sich  a  dog  in  my  life.  He'll  kill  that  coon  by  his- 
self,  I  tell  ye!" 

Again  his  enemy  broke  Boney's  grim  hold  on  his 
throat,  sprang  back  four  feet  and,  to  the  dog's  sur 
prise,  made  no  effort  to  reach  the  water.  Instead  he 
stood  straight  and  quivering  on  his  hind  legs  and 
faced  his  enemy,  his  white  needle-like  fangs  gleaming 
in  two  rows  and  his  savage  fore-claws  opening  and 
closing  with  deadly  threat. 

The  old  warrior,  taken  completely  by  surprise  by 
this  new  stratagem  of  his  foe,  circled  in  a  vain  effort 
to  reach  the  flank  or  rear.  Each  turn  only  brought 
them  again  face  to  face,  and  at  last  he  plunged  straight 
on  the  centre  line  of  attack.  With  a  quick  side 
leap  the  coon  struck  the  dog's  head  a  blow  with  his 
claw  that  split  his  ear  for  three  inches  as  cleanly 
and  evenly  as  if  a  surgeon's  knife  had  been  used. 

With  a  low  growl  of  rage  and  pain,  Boney  wheeled 
and  repeated  his  assault  with  the  same  results  for 
the  other  ear.  He  turned  in  silence  and  deliberately 
crept  toward  his  foe.  There  would  be  no  chance  for 
a  side  blow.  He  wouldn't  plunge  or  spring.  He  might 
get  another  bloody  gash,  but  he  wouldn't  miss  again. 

This  time  he  found  the  body,  they  closed  and  rolled 
over  and  over  in  close  blood-stained  grip.  For  the 
first  time  Tom's  face  showed  doubts,  and  he  called 
to  Dennis : 

"Choke  off  two  dogs  from  that  fust  coon  an'  throw 
'em  in  here !" 

They  came  in  a  moment  and  clinched  with  Boney's 
enemy.  The  charge  of  two  new  troopers  drove  the 
coon  to  desperation.  The  sharp  claws  flew  like  light- 

60 


PROLOGUE 


iiing.  The  new  dogs  ran  back  into  the  water  with 
howls  of  pain  and  scrambled  up  the  bank  to  their  old 
job. 

Boney  paid  no  attention  either  to  the  unexpected 
assault  of  his  friends  or  their  ignoble  desertion.  Every 
ounce  of  his  dog-manhood  was  up  now.  It  was  a 
battle  to  the  death  and  he  had  no  wish  to  live  if  he 
couldn't  whip  any  coon  that  ever  made  a  track  in 
his  path. 

The  Boy's  pride  was  roused  now  and  the  fighting  in 
stinct  that  slumbers  in  every  human  soul  flashed 
through  his  excited  eyes.  He  drew  near  and  watched 
with  increasing  excitement  and  joined  with  his  father 
at  last  in  shouts  and  cheers. 

"Did  ye  ever  see  such  a  dog!"  he  cried  through  his 
tears. 

"He  beats   creation !"  was  the   admiring  answer. 

The  Boy  bent  low  over  the  squirming  pair  and  his 
voice  was  in  perfect  tune  with  his  dog's  low  growl: 

"Eat  him  up,  Bone!     Eat  him  alive!" 

"Don't  touch  'em!"  Tom  warned.  "Let  'im  have 
a  fair  fight — ef  he  don't  kill  that  coon  I'll  eat  'im, 
raw,  hide  an'  hair !" 

Boney  had  succeeded  at  last  in  fastening  his  teeth 
in  a  firm  grip  on  the  coon's  throat.  He  held  it  with 
out  a  cry  of  pain  while  the  claws  ripped  his  ears 
and  gashed  his  head.  Deeper  and  deeper  sank  his 
teeth  until  at  last  the  razor  claws  that  were  cutting 
relaxed  slowly  and  the  long  lean  body  with  its  beau 
tiful  fur  lay  full  length  on  the  red-marked  stones. 

The  dog  loosed  his  hold  instantly.  His  work  was 
done.  He  scorned  to  strike  a  fallen  foe.  He  started 
to  the  water's  edge  to  quench  his  thirst  and  stag 
gered  in  a  circle.  The  blood  had  blinded  him. 

61 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  Boy  sprang  to  his  side,  lifted  him  tenderly 
in  his  arms,  carried  him  to  the  water  and  bathed  his 
eyes  and  head. 

"He's  cut  all  to  pieces!"  he  sobbed  at  last.  "He'll 
die — I  just  know  it!" 

"Na !"  his  father  answered  scornfully.  "Be  all  right 
in  two  or  three  days." 

The  Boy  went  back  and  looked  at  the  slim  body 
of  the  dead  coon  with  wonder. 

"Why  did  this  one  fight  so  much  harder  than  the 
ones  on  the  bank?"  he  asked  thoughtfully. 
^       "  'Cause   she's    their   mother,"    Tom    said    casually, 
"an*  them's  her  two  children." 

Something  hurt  deep  down  in  the  Boy's  soul  as  he 
looked  at  the  graceful  nose  and  the  red-stained  fur  at 
<  her  throat.  He  saw  his  mother's  straight  neck  and 
head  outlined  again  against  the  starlit  sky  the  night 
she  stood  before  him  rifle  in  hand  and  shot  at  that 
midnight  prowler. 

His  mouth  closely  firmly  and  he  spoke  with  bitter 
decision: 

"I  don't  like  coon  hunting.  I'm  not  coming  any 
more." 

"Good  Lord,  Boy,  we  got  ter  have  skins  h'ain't 
we?"  was  the  hearty  answer. 

"I  reckon  so,"  he  sorrowfully  admitted.  But  all 
the  way  home  he  walked  in  brooding  silence. 


The  following  winter  brought  the  event  for  which 
the  mother  had  planned  and  about  which  she  had 
dreamed  since  her  boy  was  born — a  school! 

62 


PROLOGUE 


The  men  gathered  on  the  appointed  day,  cut  the 
logs  and  split  the  boards  for  the  house.  Another  day 
and  it  was  raised  and  the  roof  in  place. 

Tom  volunteered  to  make  the  teacher's  table  and 
chair  and  benches  for  the  scholars.  He  had  the  best 
set  of  tools  in  the  county  and  he  wished  to  do  it  be 
cause  he  knew  it  would  please  his  wife.  There  was 
no  money  in  it  but  his  life  was  swiftly  passing  in 
that  sort  of  work.  He  was  too  big-hearted  and  gen 
erous  to  complain.  Besides  the  world  in  which  he 
lived — the  world  of  field  and  wood,  of  dog  and  gun, 
of  game  and  the  open  road  was  too  beautiful  and 
interesting  to  complain  about  it.  He  was  glad  to  be 
alive  and  tried  to  make  his  neighbors  think  as  he  did 
about  it. 

When  the  great  day  dawned  the  young  mother  eager 
ly  prepared  breakfast  for  her  children.  She  wouldn't 
allow  Sarah  to  help  this  morning.  It  must  be  a  per 
fect  day  in  her  life.  She  washed  the  Boy's  face  and 
hands  with  scrupulous  care  when  the  breakfast  things 
were  cleared  away,  and  her  grey  eyes  were  shining 
with  a  joy  he  had  never  seen  before.  He  caught  her 
excitement  and  the  spirit  of  it  took  possession  of 
his  imagination. 

"What'll  school  be  like,  Ma?"  he  asked  in  a 
tense  whisper. 

"Oh,  this  one  won't  be  very  exciting  maybe  in 
a  little  room  built  of  logs.  But  it's  the  beginning, 
Boy,  of  greater  things.  Just  spelling,  reading,  writ 
ing  and  arithmetic  now — but  you're  starting  on  the 
way  that  leads  out  of  these  silent,  lonely  woods  into 
the  big  world  where  great  men  fight  and  make  history. 
Your  father  has  never  known  this  way.  He's  good  and 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


kind  and  gentle  and  generous,  but  he's  just  a  child, 
because  he  doesn't  know.  You're  going  to  be  a  man 
among  men  for  your  mother's  sake,  aren't  you?" 

She  seized  his  arms  and  gripped  them  in  her  eager 
ness  until  he  felt  the  pain. 

"Won't  you,  Boy?"  she  repeated  tensely. 

He  looked  up  steadily  and  then  slowly  said: 

"Yes,  I  will." 

She  clasped  him  impulsively  in  her  arms  and  hur 
ried  from  the  cabin  leading  the  children  by  the  hand. 
The  Boy  could  feel  her  slender  fingers  trembling. 

When  they  drew  near  the  cross  roads  where  the 
little  log  house  had  been  built,  she  -stopped,  nervously 
fixed  their  clothes,  took  off  the  Boy's  cap  and  brushed 
his  thick  black  hair. 

They  were  the  first  to  arrive,  but  in  a  few  minutes 
others  came,  and  by  nine  o'clock  more  than  thirty 
scholars  were  in  their  seats.  The  mother's  heart  sank 
within  her  when  she  met  the  teacher  and  heard  him  talk. 
It  was  only  too  evident  that  he  was  poorly  equipped 
for  his  work.  He  could  barely  read  and  could  neither 
write  nor  teach  arithmetic.  The  one  qualification 
about  which  there  was  absolute  certainty,  was  that 
he  could  lick  the  biggest  boy  in  school  whenever  the 
occasion  demanded  it.  He  conveyed  this  interesting 
bit  of  information  to  the  assemblage  in  no  uncertain 
language. 

The  mother  could  scarcely  keep  back  her  tears. 
By  the  end  of  the  week  it  was  plain  that  her  children 
knew  as  much  as  their  teacher. 

"What's  the  use?"  Tom  asked  in  disgust.  "Hit's 
a  waste  o'  time  an'  money.  Let  'em  quit!" 

"No,  I  can't  take  them  out!"  was  the  firm  reply. 

64 


PROLOGUE 


"They  may  not  learn  much,  but  if  the  school  keeps 
going,  don't  you  see,  a  better  man  will  come  bye  and 
bye,  and  then  it  will  be  worth  while." 

Tom  shook  his  head,  but  let  her  have  her  own  way. 

"Besides,"  she  went  on,  "he'll  learn  something  being 
with  the  other  children." 

"Learn  to  fight,  mebbe,"  the  husband  laughed. 

He  did,  too,  and  the  way  it  came  about  was  as  big 
a  surprise  to  the  Boy  as  it  was  to  the  youngster  he 
fought. 

The  small  bully  of  the  school  lived  in  the  same  di 
rection  as  the  Boy  and  Sarah.  They  frequently 
walked  together  for  a  mile  going  or  coming  and  grew 
to  know  one  another  well.  The  Boy  disliked  this  tow- 
head  urchin  from  the  moment  they  met.  But  he  was 
quiet,  unobtrusive  and  modest  and  generally  allowed 
the  loud-mouthed  one  to  have  his  way.  The  tow- 
head  took  the  Boy's  quiet  ways  for  submission  and 
insisted  on  patronizing  his  friend.  The  Boy  good- 
naturedly  submitted  when  it  cost  him  nothing  of  self- 
respect. 

At  the  close  of  school,  the  tow-head  whispered : 

"Come  by  the  spring  with  me,  I  want  to  show  you 
somethin' !" 

"No,  I  don't  want  to,"  he  replied. 

"Let  Sarah  go  on  an'  we'll  catch  her — I  got  a  funny 
trick  ter  show  you.  You'll  kill  yourself  a-laughin'." 

The  Boy's  curiosity  was  aroused  and  he  consented. 

They  hastened  to  the  spring  where  the  embers  of 
a  fire  at  which  the  scholars  were  accustomed  to  warm 
their  lunch,  were  still  smouldering.  The  tow-headed 
one  drew  from  the  corner  of  the  fence  a  turtle  which 
he  had  captured  and  tied,  scooped  a  red-hot  coal  from 

65 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


the  fire  with  a  piece  of  board  and  placed  it  on  the 
turtle's  back. 

The  poor  creature,  tortured  by  the  burning  coal, 
started  in  a  scramble  trying  to  run  from  the  fire.  The 
tow-head  roared  with  laughter. 

The  Boy  flushed  with  sudden  rage,  sprang  forward 
and  knocked  the  coal  off. 

The  two  faced  each  other. 

"You  do  that  again  an'  I'll  knock  you  down !" 
shouted  the  bully. 

"You  do  it  again  and  I'll  knock  you  down,"  was 
the  sturdy  answer. 

"You  will,  will  you?"  the  tow-head  cried  with  scorn. 
"Well,  I'll  show  you." 

With  a  bound  he  replaced  the  coal. 

The  Boy  knocked  it  off  and  pounced  on  him. 

The  fight  was  brief.  They  had  scarcely  touched 
the  ground  before  the  Boy  was  on  top  pounding  with 
both  his  little,  clinched  fists. 

"Stop  it — you're  killin'  me!"  the  under  one 
screamed. 

"Will  you  let  him  alone?"  the  Boy  hissed. 

"You're  killin'  me,  I  tell  ye !"  the  tow-head  yelled 
in  terror.  "Stop  it  I  say — would  you  kill  a  feller  just 
for  a  doggoned  old  cooter?" 

"Will  you  let  him  alone?" 

"Yes,  if  ye  won't  kill  me." 

The  Boy  slowly  rose.  The  tow-head  leaped  to  his 
feet  and  with  a  look  of  terror  started  on  a  run. 

"You  needn't  run,  I  won't  hit  ye  again!"  the  Boy 
cried. 

But  the  legs  only  moved  faster.  Never  since  he  was 
born  did  the  Boy  see  a  pair  of  legs  get  over  the  ground 

66 


PROLOGUE 


like  that.  He  sat  down  and  laughed  and  then  hurried 
on  to  join  Sarah. 

He  didn't  tell  his  sister  what  had  happened.  His 
mother  mustn't  know  that  he  had  been  in  a  fight.  But 
when  he  felt  the  touch  of  her  hand  on  his  forehead 
that  night  as  he  rose  from  her  knee  he  couldn't  bear 
the  thought  of  deceiving  her  again  and  so  he  confessed.  r 

"It  wasn't  wrong,  was  it,  to  fight  for  a  thing  like 
that?"  he  asked  wistfully. 

"No,"  came  the  answer.  "He  needed  a  thrashing — 
the  little  scoundrel,  and  I'm  glad  you  did  it." 


XI 

The  school  flickered  out  in  five  weeks  and  the  fol 
lowing  summer  another  lasted  for  six  weeks. 

And  then  they  moved  to  the  land  Tom  had  staked 
off  in  the  heart  of  the  great  forest  fifteen  miles  from  ., 
the  northern  banks   of  the  Ohio.      He  would   still  be 
in  sight  of  the  soil  of  Kentucky. 

The  Boy's  heart  beat  with  new  wonder  as  they 
slowly  floated  across  the  broad  surface  of  the  river. 
He  could  conceive  of  no  greater  one. 

"There  is  a  bigger  one!"  his  father  said.  "The 
Mississippi  is  the  daddy  of  'em  all — the  Ohio's  lost 
when  it  rolls  into  her  banks — stretchin'  for  a  thou 
sand  miles  an'  more  from  the  mountains  in  the  north 
way  down  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  at  New  Orleans." 

"And  it's  all  ours?"  he  asked  in  wonder. 

"Yes,  and  plenty  more  big  ones  that  pour  into  hit 
from  the  West." 

The   Boy   saw   again   the   impassioned   face   of  the 

67 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


orator  telling  the  glories  of  his  country,  and  his  heart 
swelled  with  pride. 

They  left  the  river  and  plunged  into  the  trackless 
forest.  No  roads  had  yet  scarred  its  virgin  soil.  Only 
the  blazed  trail  for  the  first  ten  miles — the  trail  Tom 
had  marked  with  his  own  hatchet — and  then  the  mag 
nificent  woods  without  a  mark.  Five  miles  further 
they  penetrated,  cutting  down  the  brush  and  trees 
to  make  way  for  the  wagon. 

They  stopped  at  last  on  a  beautiful  densely  wooded 
hill  near  a  stream  of  limpid  water.  A  rough  camp 
was  quickly  built  Indian  fashion  and  covered  with 
bear  skins. 

The  next  day  the  father  put  into  the  Boy's  hand 
the  new  axe  he  had  bought  for  him. 

"You're  not  quite  eight  years  old,  Boy,"  he  said, 
encouragingly,  "but  you're  big  as  a  twelve-year-old 
an'  you're  spunky.  Do  you  think  you  can  swing  an 
axe  that's  a  man's  size?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  sturdy  answer. 

And  from  that  day  he  did  it  with  a  song  on  his 
lips  no  matter  how  heavy  the  heart  that  beat  in  his 
little  breast. 

At  first  they  cut  the  small  poles  and  built  a  half- 
faced  camp,  and  made  it  strong  enough  to  stand 
the  storms  of  winter  in  case  a  cabin  could  not  be 
finished  before  spring.  This  half-faced  camp  was  made 
of  small  logs  built  on  three  sides,  with  the  fourth 
open  to  the  south.  In  front  of  this  opening  the  log 
fire  was  built  and  its  flame  never  died  day  or  night. 

To  the  soul  of  the  Boy  this  half-faced  camp  with 
its  blazing  logs  in  the  shadow  of  giant  trees  was  the 
most  wonderful  dwelling  he  had  ever  seen.  The  stars 

63 


PROLOGUE 


that  twinkled  in  the  sky  beyond  the  lacing  boughs 
were  set  in  his  ceiling.  No  king  in  his  palace  could 
ask  for  more. 

But  into  the  young  mother's  heart  slowly  crept 
the  first  shadows  of  a  nameless  dread.  Fifteen  miles 
from  a  human  habitation  in  the  depths  of  an  un 
marked  wilderness  with  only  a  hunter's  camp  for  her 
home,  and  she  had  dreamed  of  schools!  To  her  chil 
dren  her  face  always  gave  good  cheer.  But  at  night 
she  lay  awake  for  long,  pitiful  hours  watching  the 
stars  and  fighting  the  battle  alone  with  despair. 

Yet  there  was  never  a  thought  of  surrender.  God 
lived  and  her  faith  was  in  Him.  The  same  stars 
were  shining  above  that  sparkled  in  old  Virginia  and 
Kentucky.  Something  within  sang  for  joy  at  the 
sight  of  her  Boy — strong  of  limb  and  dauntless  of 
soul.  He  was  God's  answer  to  her  cry,  and  always 
she  went  the  even  tenor  of  her  way  singing  softly 
that  he  might  hear. 

His  father  set  him  to  the  task  of  clearing  the  first 
acre  of  ground  for  the  crop  next  spring.  It  seemed 
a  joke  to  send  a  child  with  an  axe  into  that  huge 
forest  and  tell  him  to  clear  the  way  for  civilization. 
And  yet  he  went  with  firm,  eager  steps. 

He  chose  the  biggest  tree  in  sight  for  his  first 
task — a  giant  oak  three  feet  in  diameter,  its  straight 
trunk  rising  a  hundred  feet  without  a  limb  or  knot 
to  mar  its  perfect  beauty. 

The  Boy  leaped  on  the  fallen  monarch  of  the  woods 
with  a  new  sense  of  power.  Far  above  gleamed  a  tiny 
space  in  the  sky.  His  hand  had  made  it.  He  was  a 
force  to  be  reckoned  with  now.  He  was  doing  things 
that  counted  in  a  man'i  world. 

69 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


Day  after  day  his  axe  rang  in  the  woods  until  a 
big  white  patch  of  sky  showed  with  gleaming  piles  of 
clouds.  And  shimmering  sunbeams  were  warming  the 
earth  for  the  seed  of  the  coming  spring.  His  tall  thin 
body  ached  with  mortal  weariness,  but  the  spirit  within 
was  too  proud  to  whine  or  complain.  He  had  taken  a 
man's  place.  His  mother  needed  him  and  he'd  play 
the  part. 

The  winter  was  the  hardest  and  busiest  he  had 
ever  known.  He  shot  his  first  wild  turkey  from  the 
door  of  their  log  camp  the  second  week  after  arrival. 
Proud  of  his  marksmanship  he  talked  of  it  for  a  week, 
and  yet  he  didn't  make  a  good  hunter.  He  allowed 
his  father  to  go  alone  oftener  than  he  would  accompany 
him.  There  was  a  queer  little  voice  somewhere  within 
that  protested  against  the  killing.  He  wouldn't  ac 
knowledge  it  to  himself  but  half  the  joy  of  his  shot 
at  his  turkey  was  destroyed  by  the  sight  of  the  blood 
stained  broken  wing  when  he  picked  it  up. 

The  mother  watched  this  trait  with  deepening  pride. 
His  practice  at  writing  and  reading  was  sheer  joy 
now.  Her  interest  was  so  keen  he  always  tried  his 
best  that  he  might  see  her  smile. 

It  was  time  to  begin  the  spring  planting  before  the 
heavy  logs  were  rolled  and  burned  and  the  smaller 
ones  made  ready  for  the  cabin.  The  corn  couldn't  wait. 
The  cabin  must  remain  unfinished  until  the  crop  was 
laid  by. 

It  had  been  a  long,  lonely  winter  for  the  mother. 
But  with  the  coming  of  spring,  the  wooded  world  was 
clothed  in  beauty  so  fresh  and  marvellous,  she  for 
got  the  loneliness  in  new  hopes  and  joys. 

Settlers  were  moving  in  now.  Every  week  Tom 

70 


PROLOGUE 


brought  the  news  of  another  neighbor.  Her  aunt  came 
in  midsummer  bringing  Dennis  and  his  dogs  with 
fun  and  companionship  for  the  Boy. 

The  new  cabin  was  not  quite  finished,  but  they 
moved  in  and  gave  their  kin  their  old  camp  for  a  home, 
all  ready  without  the  stroke  of  an  axe. 

Dennis  was  wild  over  the  hunting  and  proposed 
to  the  Boy  a  deer  hunt  all  by  themselves. 

"Let's  just  me  and  you  go,  Boy,  an'  show  Tom 
what  we  can  do  with  a  rifle  without  him.  You  can 
take  the  first  shot  with  old  'Speakeasy'  an'  then  I'll 
try  her.  The  deer'll  be  ez  thick  ez  bees  around  that 
Salt  Lick  now." 

The  Boy  consented.  Boney  went  with  him  for 
company.  As  a  self-respecting  coon  do^  he  scorned 
to  hunt  any  animal  that  couldn't  fight  with  an  even 
chance  for  his  life.  As  for  a  deer — he'd  as  lief  chase 
a  calf! 

Dennis  placed  the  Boy  at  a  choice  stand  behind  a 
steep  hill  in  which  the  deer  would  be  sure  to  plunge 
in  their  final  rush  to  escape  the  dogs  when  close 
pressed  in  the  valley. 

"Now  the  minute  you  see  him  jump  that  ridge  let 
him  have  it !"  Dennis  said.  "He'll  come  straight  down 
the  hill  right  inter  your  face." 

The  Boy  took  his  place  and  began  to  feel  the  savage 
excitement  of  his  older  companion.  He  threw  the 
gun  in  place  and  drew  a  bead  on  an  imaginary  bound 
ing  deer. 

"All  right.     I'll  crack  him!"  he  promised. 

"Now,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  you  miss  'im!" 
Dennis  warned.  "I  don't  want  Tom  ter  have  the 
laugh  on  us." 

71 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  Boy  promised,  and  Dennis  called  his  dogs  and 
hurried  into  the  bottoms  toward  the  Salt  Lick.  In 
half  an  hour  the  dogs  opened  on  a  hot  trail  that 
grew  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  distance  until  they 
could  scarcely  be  heard.  They  stopped  altogether  for 
a  moment  and  then  took  up  the  cry  gradually  grow 
ing  clearer  and  clearer.  The  deer  had  run  the  limit 
of  his  first  impulse  and  taken  the  back  track,  re 
turning  directly  over  the  same  trail. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  pack  drew,  the  trail 
growing  hotter  and  hotter  with  each  leap  of  the 
hounds. 

The  Boy  was  trembling  with  excitement.  He  cocked 
his  gun  and  stood  ready.  Boney  lay  on  a  pile  of 
leaves  ten  feet  away  quietly  dozing.  Louder  and 
louder  rang  the  cry  of  the  hounds.  They  seemed  to 
be  right  back  of  the  hill  now.  The  deer  should  leap 
over  its  crest  at  any  moment.  His  gun  was  half 
lifted  and  his  eyes  flaming  with  excitement  when  a 
beautiful  half  grown  fawn  sprang  over  the  hill  and 
stood  for  a  moment  staring  with  wide  startled  eyes 
straight  into  his. 

The  savage  yelp  of  the  hounds  close  behind  rang 
clear,  sharp  and  piercing  as  they  neared  the  summit. 
The  panting,  trembling  fawn  glanced  despairingly  be 
hind,  looked  again  into  the  Boy's  eyes,  and  as  the 
first  dog  leaped  the  hill  crest  made  his  choice.  Stag 
gering  and  panting  with  terror,  he  dropped  on  his 
knees  by  the  Boy's  side,  the  bloodshot  eyes  begging 
piteously  for  help. 

The  Boy  dropped  his  gun  and  gathered  the 
trembling  thing  in  his  arms.  In  a  moment  the  hounds 
were  on  him  leaping  and  tearing  at  the  fawn.  H« 

72 


PROLOGUE 


kicked  them  right  and  left  and  jelled  with  all  his 
might : 

"Down,  I  tell  you!     Down  or  I'll  kill  you!" 

The  hounds  continued  to  leap  and  snap  in  spite  of 
his  kicks  and  cries  until  Boney  saw  the  struggle, 
and  stepped  between  his  master  and  his  torment- 
ers.  One  low  growl  and  not  another  hound  came 
near. 

When  Dennis  arrived  panting  for  breath  he  couldn't 
believe  his  eyes.  The  Boy  was  holding  the  exhausted 
fawn  in  his  lap  with  a  glazed  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Well,  of  all  the  dam-fool  things  I  ever  see  sence 
God  made  me,  this  takes  the  cake!"  he  cried  in  dis 
gust.  "Why  didn't  ye  shoot  him?" 

"Because  he  ran  to  me  for  help — how  could  I  shoot 
him?" 

Dennis  sat  down  and  roared: 

"Well,   of  all   the  deer   huntin',   this   beats   me!" 

The  Boy  rose,  still  holding  the  fawn  in  his  arms. 

"You  can  take  the  gun  and  go  on.  Boney  and 
me'll  go  back  home " 

"You  ain't  goin'  ter  carry  that  thing  clean  home, 
are  you?" 

"Yes,  I  am,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "And  I'll  kill 
any  dog  that  tries  to  hurt  him." 

Dennis  was  still  laughing  when  he  disappeared, 
Boney  walking  slowly  at  his  heels. 

He  showed  the  fawn  to  his  mother  and  told  Sarah 
she  could  have  him  for  a  pet.  The  mother  watched 
him  with  shining  eyes  while  he  built  a  pen  and  then 
lifted  the  still  trembling  wild  thing  inside. 

Next  morning  the  pen  was  down  and  the  captive 
gone.  The  Boy  didn't  seem  much  surprised  or  ap- 

73 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


pear  to  care.  When  he  was  alone  with  his  mother 
she  whispered : 

"Didn't  you  go  out  there  last  night  and  let  it  loose 
when  the  dogs  were  asleep?" 

He  was  still  a  moment  and  then  nodded  his  head. 

His  mother  clasped  him  to  her  heart. 

"O  my  Boy!     My  own — I  love  you!" 


XII 


The  second  winter  in  the  wilderness  was  not  so 
hard.  The  heavy  work  of  clearing  the  timber  for 
the  corn  fields  was  done  and  the  new  cabin  and  its 
furniture  had  been  finished  except  the  door,  for  which 
there  was  little  use. 

The  new  neighbors  had  brought  cheer  to  the 
mother's  heart. 

An  early  spring  broke  the  winter  of  1818  and 
clothed  the  wilderness  world  in  robes  of  matchless 
beauty. 

The  Boy's  gourds  were  placed  beside  the  new  garden 
and  the  noise  of  chattering  martins  echoed  over  the 
cabin.  The  toughened  muscles  of  his  strong,  slim 
body  no  longer  ached  in  rebellion  at  his  tasks.  Work 
had  become  a  part  of  the  rhythm  of  life.  He  could 
sing  at  his  hardest  task.  The  freedom  and  strength 
of  the  woods  had  gotten  into  his  blood.  In  this  world 
of  waving  trees,  of  birds  and  beasts,  of  laughing  sky 
and  rippling  waters,  there  were  no  masters,  no  slaves. 
Millions  in  gold  were  of  no  value  in  its  elemental 
struggle.  Character,  skill,  strength  and  manhood  only 
counted.  Poverty  was  teaching  him  the  first  great 

74 


PROLOGUE 


lesson  of  human  life,  that  man  shall  eat  his  bread  in 
the  sweat  of  his  brow  and  that  industry  is  the  only 
foundation  on  which  the  moral  and  material  universe 
has  ever  rested  or  can  rest. 

Solitude  and  the  stimulus  of  his  mother's  mind  were 
slowly  teaching  him  to  think — to  think  deeply  and 
fearlessly,  and  think  for  himself. 

Entering  now  in  his  ninth  year,  he  was  shy,  re 
ticent,  over-grown,  consciously  awkward,  homely  and 
ill  clad-^— he  grew  so  rapidly  it  was  impossible  to  make 
his  clothes  fit.  But  in  the  depths  of  his  hazel-grey 
eyes  there  were  slumbering  fires  that  set  him  apart 
from  the  boys  of  his  age.  His  mother  saw  and  under 
stood. 

A  child  in  years  and  yet  he  had  already  learned 
the  secrets  of  the  toil  necessary  to  meet  the  needs 
of  life.  He  swung  a  woodman's  axe  with  any  man. 
He  could  plow  and  plant  a  field,  make  its  crop,  harvest 
and  store  its  fruits  and  cook  them  for  the  table.  He 
could  run,  jump,  wrestle,  swim  and  fight  when  man 
hood  called.  He  knew  the  language  of  the  winds  and 
clouds,  and  spoke  the  tongues  of  woods  and  field. 

And  he  could  read  and  write.  His  mother's  pas 
sionate  yearning  and  quenchless  enthusiasm  had  placed 
in  his  hand  the  key  to  books  and  the  secrets  of  the 
ages  were  his  for  the  asking. 

He  would  never  see  the  walls  of  a  college,  but  he 
had  already  taken  his  degree  in  Industry,  Patience, 
Caution,  Courage,  Pity  and  Gentleness. 

The  beauty  and  glory  of  this  remarkable  spring 
brought  him  into  still  closer  communion  with  his 
mother's  spirit.  They  had  read  every  story  of  the 
Bible,  some  of  them  twice  or  three  times,  and  his  stub- 

75 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


born  mind  had  fought  with  her  many  a  friendly  battle 
over  their  teachings.  Always  too  wise  and  patient  to 
command  his  faith,  she  waited  its  growth  in  the  ful 
ness  of  time.  He  had  read  every  tale  in  "^Esop's 
Fables"  and  brought  a  thousand  smiles  to  his  mother's 
dark  face  by  his  quaint  comments.  She  was  dreaming 
now  of  new  books  to  place  in  his  eager  hands.  Corn 
was  ten  cents  a  bushel,  wheat  twenty-five,  and  a  cow 
was  only  worth  six  dollars.  Whiskey,  hams  and  to 
bacco  were  legal  tender  and  used  instead  of  money. 
She  had  ceased  to  dream  of  wealth  in  goods  and  chat 
tels  until  conditions  were  changed.  Her  one  aim  in 
life  was  to  train  the  minds  of  her  children  and  to 
this  joyous  task  she  gave  her  soul  and  body.  It'  was 
the  only  thing  worth  while.  That  God  would  give 
her  strength  for  this  was  all  she  asked. 

And  then  the  great  shadow  fell. 

The  mother  and  children  were  walking  home  from 
the  woods  through  the  glory  of  the  Southern  spring 
morning  in  awed  silence.  The  path  was  hedged  with 
violets  and  buttercups.  The  sweet  odor  of  grape 
vine,  blackberry  and  dewberry  blossoms  filled  the  air. 
Dogwood  and  black-haw  lit  with  white  flame  the 
farthest  shadows  of  the  forest  and  the  music  of  birds 
seemed  part  of  the  mingled  perfume  of  flowers. 

The  boy's  keen  ear  caught  the  drone  of  bees  and 
his  sharp  eye  watched  .them  climb  slowly  toward  their 
storehouse  in  a  towering  tree.  All  nature  was  laugh 
ing  in  the  madness  of  joy. 

The  Boy  silently  took  his  mother's  hand  and  asked 
in  subdued  tones: 

"What  is  the  pest,  Ma,  and  what  makes  it?" 

"Nobody  knows,"  she  answered  softly.  "It  comes 

76 


PROLOGUE 


like  a  thief  in  the  night  and  stays  for  months  and 
sometimes  for  years.  They  call  it  the  'milk-sick* 
because  the  cows  die,  too — and  sometimes  the  horses. 
The  old  Indian  women  say  it  starts  from  the  cows 
eating  a  poison  flower  in  the  woods.  The  doctors 
know  nothing  about  it.  It  just  comes  and  kills,  that's 
all." 

The  little  hand  suddenly  gripped  hers  with  trembling 
hold: 

"O  Ma,  if  it  kills  you !" 

A  tender  smile  lighted  her  dark  face  as  the  warmth 
of  his  love  ran  like  fire  through  her  veins. 

"It  can't  harm  me,  my  son,  unless  God  wills  it. 
When  he  calls  I  shall  be  ready." 

All  the  way  home  he  clung  to  her  hand  and  some 
times  when  they  paused  stroked  it  tenderly  with  both 
his. 

"What's  it  like?"  he  asked  at  last.  "Can't  you  take 
bitters  for  it  in  time  to  stop  it?  How  do  you  know 
when  it's  come?" 

"You  begin  to  feel  drowsy,  a  whitish  coating  is 
on  the  tongue,  a  burning  in  the  stomach,  the  feet  and 
legs  get  cold.  You're  restless  and  the  pulse  grows 
weak." 

"How  long  does  it  last?" 

"Sometimes  it  kills  in  three  days,  sometimes  two 
weeks.  Sometimes  it's  chronic  and  hangs  on  for  years 
and  then  kills." 

Every  morning  through  the  long  black  summer  of 
the  scourge  he  asked  her  with  wistful  tenderness  if 
she  were  well.  Her  cheerful  answers  at  last  brought 
peace  to  his  anxious  heart  and  he  gradually  ceased  to 
fear.  She  was  too  sweet  and  loving  and  God  too  good 

77 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


that  she  should  die.  Besides,  both  his  father  and 
mother  had  given  him  a  lesson  in  quiet,  simple  heroism 
that  steadied  his  nerves. 

He  looked  at  the  rugged  figure  of  his  father  with 
a  new  sense  of  admiration.  He  was  no  more  afraid 
of  Death  than  of  Life.  He  was  giving  himself  with 
out  a  question  in  an  utterly  unselfish  devotion  to  the 
stricken  community.  There  were  no  doctors  within 
thirty  miles,  and  if  one  came  he  could  but  shake  his 
head  and  advise  simple  remedies  that  did  no  good. 
Only  careful  nursing  counted  for  anything.  With 
out  money,  without  price,  without  a  murmur 
the  father  gave  his  life  to  this  work.  No  neigh 
bor  within  five  miles  was  stricken  that  he  did  not  find 
a  place  by  that  bedside  in  fearless,  loving,  unselfish 
service. 

And  when  Death  came,  this  simple  friend  went  for 
his  tools,  cut  down  a  tree,  ripped  the  boards  from  its 
trunk,  made  the  coffin,  and  with  tender  reverence  dug 
a  grave  and  lowered  the  loved  one.  He  was  doctor, 
nurse,  casket-maker,  grave-digger,  comforter  and 
priest.  His  reverent  lips  had  long  known  the  language 
of  prayer. 

With  tireless  zeal  the  mother  joined  in  this  ministry 
of  love,  and  the  Boy  saw  her  slender  dark  figure  walk 
so  often  beside  trembling  feet  as  they  entered  the 
valley  of  the  great  shadow,  that  he  grew  to  believe 
that  she  led  a  charmed  life.  Nor  did  he  fear  when 
Dennis  came  one  morning  and  in  choking  tones  said 
that  both  his  uncle  and  aunt  were  stricken  in  the 
little  half-faced  camp  but  a  few  hundred  yards  away. 
He  was  sorry  for  Dennis.  He  had  never  known  father 
or  mother — only  this  uncle  and  aunt. 

78 


PROLOGUE 

"Don't  you  worry,  Dennis,"  the  Boy  said  tenderly. 
"You'll  live  with  us  if  they  die." 

They  both  died  within  a  few  days.  The  night  after 
the  last  burial,  Dennis  crawled  into  the  loft  with  the 
Boy  to  be  his  companion  for  many  a  year. 

And  then  the  blow  fell,  swift,  terrible  and  utterly 
unexpected.  He  had  long  ago  made  up  his  mind  that 
God  had  flung  about  his  mother's  form  the  spell  of 
his  Almighty  power  and  the  pestilence  that  walked 
in  the  night  dared  not  draw  near.  An  angel  with 
flaming  sword  stood  beside  their  cabin  door. 

Last  night  in  the  soft  moonlight  a  whip-poor-will 
was  singing  nearby  and  he  fancied  he  saw  the  white 
winged  sentinel,  and  laughed  for  joy. 

When  he  climbed  down  from  his  loft  next  morning 
his  mother  was  in  bed  and  Sarah  was  alone  over  the 
fire  cooking  breakfast. 

His  heart  stood  still.  He  walked  with  unsteady 
step  to  her  bedside  and  whispered: 

"Are  you  sick,  Ma?" 

"Yes,  dear,  it  has  come." 

He  grasped  her  hot  outstretched  hand  and  fell  on 
his  knees  in  sobbing  anguish.  He  knew  now — it  was 
the  angel  of  Death  he  had  seen. 


XIII 

Death  stood  at  the  door  with  drawn  sword  to  slay 
not  to  defend,  but  the  Boy  resolved  to  fight.  She 
should  not  give  up — she  should  not  die.  He  would 
fight  for  her  with  all  the  hosts  of  hell  and  single- 
handed  if  he  must. 

79 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


He  rose  from  his  knees  still  holding  her  hand,  his 
first  hopeless  burst  of  despair  over,  his  heart  beating 
with  desperate  resolution. 

"You  won't  give  up,  will  you,  Ma?"  he  whispered. 

She  smiled  wanly  and  he  rushed  on  with  breathless 
intensity:  "I'm  not  going  to  let  you  die.  I  won't — I 
tell  you  I  won't.  I'll  fight  this  thing — and  you've 
got  to  help  me — won't  you?" 

"I'm  ready  for  God's  will,  my  Boy,"  she  said  simply. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  say  that!"  he  pleaded.  "I 
want  you  to  fight  and  never  give  up.  Why  you  can't 
die,  Ma — you  just  can't.  You're  my  only  teacher 
now.  There  ain't  no  schools  here.  How  can  I  learn 
books  without  you  to  help  me?  Say  you'll  get  well. 
Please  say  it  for  me — please,  just  say  it " 

He  paused  and  couldn't  go  on  for  a  moment.  "Say 
you'll  try  then — just  for  me — please  say  it!" 

"I'll  try,  Boy,"  she   said  tenderly  at  last. 

He  flew  to  the  creek  bank  and  in  two  hours  came 
home  with  an  armful  of  fresh  sarsaparilla  roots.  He 
cut  and  pounded  them  into  a  soft  pulp  and  made  a 
poultice.  Sarah  helped  him  put  it  in  place.  He  made 
his  mother  drink  the  bitters  every  hour.  He  got  stones 
ready  and  had  them  hot  to  wrap  in  cloths  and  put  to 
her  feet  the  moment  they  felt  cold.  He  wouldn't  take 
her  word  for  it  either.  He  kept  slipping  his  little 
hands  under  the  cover  to  feel. 

The  mother  smiled  at  his  tender,  eager  touch. 

"Now,  Boy,"  she  said  softly.  "I'm  feeling  com 
fortable,  will  you  do  something  for  me?" 

"What   is   it?"   he   cried  eagerly. 

She  smiled  again:  • 

"Read  to  me.      I  want  to  hear  your  voice." 

80 


PROLOGUE 


"All  right— what?" 

"The  Bible,   of  course." 

"What  story?" 

"Not  a  story  this  time — the  twenty-third  Psalm." 

The  Boy  took  the  worn  Bible  from  the  shelf,  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  opened,  and  began  in 
low  tones  to  read: 

"The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  I  shall  not  want " 

His  voice  choked  and  he  stopped: 

"O  Ma,  I  just  can't  read  that  now — why — why 
did  He  let  this  come  to  you  if  He's  your  Shepherd — 
why — why — why  !" 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  her  slender 
fingers  touched  his  hair: 

"He  knows  best,  my  son — read  on — the  words  are 
sweet  to  my  soul  from  your  lips." 

With   an   effort  he   opened   the   Book   again: 

"He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures ; 

"He  leadeth  me  beside   the   still  waters. 

"He  restoreth  my  soul: 

"He  leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of  righteousness  for 
His  name's  sake. 

"Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death, 

"I  will  fear  no  evil;  for  thou  art  with  me " 

Again  the  voice  choked  into  silence  and  he  closed 
the  Book. 

"I  can't — I  can't  read  it.  I'm  afraid  you're  going 
to  give  up!"  he  sobbed.  "O  Ma,  you  won't,  will  you? 
Please  say  you  won't?" 

"No,  no,  I  won't  give  up,  my  Boy,"  she  said  sooth 
ingly.  "I'm  just  ready  for  anything  He  sends " 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  say  that!"  he  broke  in 

81 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


passionately.  "You  must  fight.  You  mustn't  be 
ready.  You  mustn't  think  about  dying.  I  won't  let 
you  die — I  tell  you !" 

She  stroked  his   forehead  with   gentle  touch: 

"I  won't  give  up  for  your  sake " 

"It's   a   promise   now?"   he   cried. 

"Yes,    I    promise " 


"Then  I'm  going  for  a  doctor  right  away " 

"You  can't  find  him,  Boy,"  his  father  said.  "It's 
thirty  miles  across  the  Ohio  into  Kentucky  where  he 
lives.  An'  in  all  this  sickness  he  ain't  at  home.  Hit's 
foolishness  ter  go " 

"I'll  find  him,"  was  the  firm  response. 

The  father  made  no  further  protest.  He  helped  him 
saddle  the  horse,  buckled  the  stirrups  to  fit  his  little 
bare  legs  and  gave  him  as  clear  directions  as  he  could. 

"The  moon'll  be  shinin'  all  night,  Boy,"  were  his 
last  words.  "Yer  can  cross  the  river  before  eight 
o'clock.  Ef  ye  git  lost  on  t'other  side  ax  yer  way 
frum  the  fust  house  ye  come  to " 

The  Boy  nodded,  and  when  had  fixed  his  bare  toes 
in  the  stirrups  he  leaned  low  and  whispered: 

"You  won't  give  up,  Pa,  will  ye?  You'll  fight  for 
her  till  I  get  back?" 

The  big  gnarled  fist  closed  over  the  little  hand 
on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  and  the  father's  voice 
was  husky: 

"As  long  as  there's  breath  in  her  body — hurry  now." 

The  last  command  was  not  needed.  The  horse  felt 
the  quiver  of  tense  suffering  in  the  low  voice  and  the 
nervous  touch  of  the  switch  on  his  side.  With  a  quick 
bound  he  was  off  at  a  full  gallop  down  the  trail  toward 
the  river. 

82 


PROLOGUE 


The  sun  had  set  before  they  reached  the  open  coun 
try  beyond  the  great  forest,  but  by  seven  o'clock  the 
Boy  saw  from  the  hill  top  the  shining  mirror  of  the 
river  in  the  calm  moonlit  valley.  Before  night  he 
had  succeeded  in  rousing  the  ferryman  and  reached 
the  opposite  shore. 

He  lost  the  way  once  about  nine  o'clock  and  a 
settler  whose  light  he  saw  in  the  woods  called  sharply 
from  the  door  with  his  rifle  in  hand:  . 

"Who  are  you?" 

"I'm  just  a  little  boy,"  the  voice  faltered.  "I'm 
trying  to  find  the  doctor's  house.  My  mother's  about 
to  die  and  I'm  lost.  I  want  you  to  show  me  the 
road." 

The  rifle  was  lowered  and  the  cabin  stirred.  The 
man  dropped  back  and  a  woman  appeared  in  the 
door  way. 

"Won't  ye  come  in,  Honey,  and  rest  a  minute  and 
me  give  ye  somethin'  to  eat  while  Pa's  gettin'  ready 
to  go  with  ye  a  piece?" 

"No'm  I  can't  eat  nuthin' " 

He  didn't  dare  go  near  that  tender  voice  that  spoke 
so  clearly  its  sympathy  in  the  night.  He  would  be 
crying  in  a  minute  if  he  did  and  he  couldn't  afford 
that. 

The  settler  caught  a  horse  and  rode  with  him  an 
hour  to  make  sure  he  wouldn't  miss  the  way  again. 

He  reached  the  doctor's  house  by  eleven  o'clock, 
and  to  his  joy  found  him  at  home.  The  rough  old 
man  refused  to  move  an  inch  until  he  had  fed  his  horse 
and  eaten  a  hearty  meal. 

The  Boy  tried  to  eat,  but  couldn't.  The  food 
stuck  squarely  in  his  throat.  It  was  no  use. 

83 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


He  went  outside  and  waited  beside  his  horse  until 
the  doctor  was  ready.  It  seemed  an  eternity,  the  awful 
wait.  How  serene  the  still  beauty  of  the  autumn 
night!  Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred.  The  full  moon 
hung  in  the  sky  straight  overhead,  flooding  the  earth 
with  silver  radiance,  marking  in  clear  and  vivid  lines 
the  shadows  of  the  trees  on  the  ground. 

Bitter  wonder  and  rebellion  filled  his  young  soul. 
How  could  God  sit  unmoved  among  those  shining 
stars  and  leave  his  mother  to  die ! 

The  doctor  came  at  last  and  they  started. 

In  vain  he  urged  that  they  gallop. 

"I  won't  do  it,  sir!"  the  old  man  snapped.  "Your 
horse  has  come  thirty  miles.  I'll  not  let  you  kill  him 
and  I'm  not  going  to  kill  myself  plunging  over  a  rough 
road  at  night." 

They  reached  the  cabin  at  daylight.  The  Boy  saw 
the  glow  of  the  flame  in  the  big  fireplace  through 
the  woods  and  his  heart  beat  high  with  new  hope. 
Now  that  the  doctor  was  here  he  felt  sure  her  life 
could  be  saved. 

The  Boy  stood  close  by  his  side  when  he  felt  her 
pulse,  and  looked  at  the  strange  whitish-brown  coat 
ing  on  her  tongue. 

"You  can  do  something,  Doctor?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"Yes,"  was  the  short  answer. 

He  asked  for  a  towel  and  bowl  and  opened  his  sad 
dlebags.  He  examined  the  point  of  his  lancet  and 
bared  the  slender  arm. 

"What   are  ye  goin'   ter  do?"   Tom   asked  with   a 
frown. 
*    "Bleed  her,  of  course.   It's  the  only  thing  to  do " 

84 


PROLOGUE 


The  Boy  suddenly  pushed  himself  between  the  doc 
tor  and  the  bed  and  looked  up  into  his  stern  face  with 
a  resolute  stare: 

"You  shan't  do  it.  I  don't  know  nothin'  much 
about  doctorin'  but  I  got  sense  enough  to  know  that'll 
kill  her — and  you  shan't  do  it!" 

The  doctor  looked  angrily  at  the  father. 

"I  say  so,  too,"  Tom  replied.  "She's  too  weak 
for  that." 

With  a  snort  of  anger,  the  old  man  threw  the  lancet 
into  his  saddlebags,  snapped  them  together  and  strode 
through  the  cabin  door. 

The  Boy  followed  him  wistfully  to  the  stable,  and 
when  he  seized  the  bridle  to  put  on  the  horse,  caught 
his  hand  and  looked  up : 

"Please  don't  go,"  he  begged.  "I'm  mighty  sorry 

I  made  you  mad.  I  didn't  go  to  do  it.  You  see " 

his  voice  faltered — "I  love  her  so  I  just  couldn't  let 
you  cut  her  arm  open  and  see  her  bleed.  I  didn't 
mean  to  hurt  your  feelings.  Won't  you  stay  and  help 
us?  Can't  ye  do  somethin'  else  for  her?  I'll  pay  ye. 
I'll  go  work  for  ye  a  whole  year  or  five  years  if  ye 
want  me — if  you'll  just  save  her — just  save  her,  that's 
all — don't  go — please  don't!" 

Something  in  the  child's  anguish  found  the  rough 
old  man's  heart.  His  eyes  grew  misty  for  a  moment, 
he  slipped  one  arm  about  the  Boy's  shoulders  and 
drew  him  close. 

"God  knows  I'd  stay  and  do  something  if  I  could, 
Sonny,  but  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I'm  not  sure 
I'm  right  about  the  bleeding  or  I'd  stay  and  make 
you  help  me  do  it.  But  I'm  not  sure — I'm  not  sure — 
and  I  can  do  no  good  by  staying.  Keep  her  warm, 

85 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


give  her  -all  the   good   food  her   stomach  will  retain. 
That's  all  I  can  tell  you.     She's  in  God's  hands." 

With  a  heavy  heart  the  Boy  watched  him  ride 
away  as  the  sun  rose  over  the  eastern  hills.  The 
doctor's  last  words  sank  into  his  soul.  She  was  in 
God's  hands !  Well,  he  would  go  to  God  and  beg  Him 
to  save  her.  He  went  into  the  woods,  knelt  behind 
a  great  oak  and  in  the  simple  words  of  a  child  asked 
for  the  desire  of  his  heart.  Three  times  every  day 
and  every  night  he  prayed. 

For  four  days  no  change  was  apparent.  She  was 
very  weak  and  tired,  but  suffered  no  pain.  His  prayer 
was  heard  and  would  be  answered  1 

The  first  symptom  of  failure  in  circulation,  he 
promptly  met  by  placing  the  hot  stones  to  her  feet. 
And  for  hours  he  and  Sarah  would  rub  her  until  the 
cold  disappeared. 

On  the  morning  of  the  seventh  day  she  was  un- 
usually  bright. 

"Why,  you're  better,  Ma,  aren't  you?"  he  cried 
with  joy. 

Her  eyes  were  shining  with  a  strange  excitement: 

"Yes.  I'm  a  lot  better.  I'm  going  to  sit  up  awhile. 
I'm  tired  lying  down." 

She  threw  herself  quickly  on  the  side  of  the  bed 
and  her  feet  touched  the  bear-skin  rug.  She  rose 
trembling  and  smiling  and  took  a  step.  She  tottered  a 
bit,  but  the  Boy  was  laughing  and  holding  her  arm.  She 
reached  the  chair  by  the  fire  and  he  wrapped  a  great 
skin  about  her  feet  and  limbs. 

"Look,  Pa,  she's  getting  well!"  the  Boy  shouted. 

Tom  watched  her  gravely  without  reply. 

She  took  the  Boy's  hand,  still  smiling: 

86 


PROLOGUE 


"I  had  such  a  wonderful  dream,"  she  began  slowly — 
"the  same  one  I  had  before  you  were  born,  my  Boy. 
God  had  answered  my  prayer  and  sent  me  a  son.  I 
watched  him  grow  to  be  a  strong,  brave,  patient,  wise 
and  gentle  man.  Thousands  hung  on  his  words  and 
the  great  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  came  to  do  him 
homage.  With  uncovered  head  he  led  me  into  a  beau 
tiful  home  with  white  pillars.  And  then  he  bowed 
low  and  whispered  in  my  ear:  *This  is  yours,  my 
angel  mother.  I  bought  it  for  you  with  my  life.  All 
that  I  am  I  owe  to  you' " 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  that  was  half  a  sob 
and  half  a  laugh. 

"See  how  she's  smiling,  Pa,"  the  Boy  cried.  "She's 
getting  well!" 

"Don't  ye  understand!"  the  father  whispered. 
"Look — at  her  eyes — she's  not  tellin'  you  a  dream — 
she's  looking  through  the  white  gates  of  heaven — it's 
Death,  Boy — it's  come — Lord  God,  have  mercy!" 

With  a  groan  he  dropped  by  her  side  and  her  thin 
hand  rested  gently  on  his  shaggy  head. 

The  Boy  stared  at  her  in  agonizing  wonder  as  she 
felt  for  his  hand  and  feebly  held  it.  She  was  gazing 
now  into  the  depths  of  his  soul  with  her  pensive 
hungry  eyes. 

"Be  good  to  your  father,  my  son "  she  paused 

for  breath  and  looked  at  him  tenderly.  She  knew 
the  father  was  the  child  of  the  future — this  Boy, 
the  man. 

"Yes !"  he  whispered. 

"And  love  your  sister " 

"Yes." 

"Be  a  man  among  men,  for  your  mother's  sake " 

87 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Yes,  Ma,  I  will!" 

The  little  head  bent  low  and  the  voice  was  silent. 

They  went  to  work  to  make  her  coffin  at  noon.  An 
unused  walnut  log  of  burled  fibre  had  been  lying  in 
the  sun  and  drying  for  two  years,  since  Tom  had 
built  the  furniture  for  the  cabin.  Dennis  helped  him 
rip  the  boards  from  this  dark,  rich  wood,  shape  and 
plane  it  for  the  pieces  he  would  need. 

The  Boy  sat  with  dry  eyes  and  aching  heart,  making 
the  wooden  nails  to  fasten  these  boards  together. 

He  stopped  suddenly,  walked  to  the  bench  at  which 
his  father  was  working  and  laid  by  his  side  the  first 
pins  he  had  whittled. 

"I  can't  do  it,  Pa,"  he  gasped.  "I  just  can't  make 
the  nails  for  her  coffin.  I  feel  like  somebody's  drivin' 
'em  through  my  heart!" 

The  rugged  face  was  lighted  with  tenderness  as  he 
slowly  answered: 

"Why,  we  must  make  it,  Boy — hit's  the  last  thing 
we  kin  do  ter  show  our  love  fur  her — ter  make  it  all 
smooth  an'  purty  outen  this  fine  dark  wood.  Yer 
wouldn't  put  her  in  the  ground  an'  throw  the  cold 
dirt  right  on  her  face,  would  you?" 

The  slim  figure  shivered: 

"No— no— I  wouldn't  do  that!  Yes,  I'll  help— 
we  must  make  it  beautiful,  mustn't  we?" 

And  then  he  went  back  to  the  pitiful  task. 

They  dug  her  grave,  these  loving  hands,  father 
and  son  and  orphan  waif,  on  a  gentle  hill  in  the  deep 
woods.  As  the  sun  sank  in  a  sea  of  scarlet  clouds 
next  day,  they  lowered  the  coffin.  The  father  lifted 
his  voice  in  a  simple  prayer  and  the  Boy  took  his 
sister's  hand  and  led  her  in  silence  back  to  the  lonely 

88 


'Be  a  man  among  men  for  your  mother's  sake — ' " 


PROLOGUE 

cabin.  He  couldn't  stay  to  see  them  throw  the  dirt 
over  her.  He  couldn't  endure  it. 

He  had  heard  of  ghosts  in  graveyards,  and  he  won 
dered  vaguely  if  such  things  could  be  true.  He  hoped 
it  was.  When  the  others  were  asleep,  just  before  day, 
he  slipped  noiselessly  from  his  bed  and  made  his  way 
to  her  grave. 

The  waning  moon  was  shining  in  cold  white 
splendor.  The  woods  were  silent.  He  watched  and 
waited  and  hoped  with  half-faith  and  half-fear  that 
he  might  see  her  radiant  form  rise  from  the  dead. 

A  leaf  rustled  behind  him  and  he  turned  with  a  thrill 
of  awful  joy.  He  wasn't  afraid.  He'd  clasp  her  in  his 
arms  if  he  could.  With  firm  step  and  head  erect,  eyes 
wide  and  nostrils  dilated,  he  walked  straight  into  the 
shadows  to  see  and  know. 

And  there,  standing  in  a  spot  of  pale  moonlight, 
stood  his  dog  looking  up  into  his  eyes  with  patient, 
loving  sympathy.  He  hadn't  shed  a  tear  since  her 
death.  Now  the  flood  tide  broke  the  barriers.  He 
sank  to  the  ground,  slipped  his  arm  around  the  dog's 
neck,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

He  wrote  a  tear  stained  letter  to  the  only  parson 
he  knew.  It  was  his  first  historic  record  and  he 
signed  his  name  in  bold,  well  rounded  letters — "A. 
LINCOLN."  Three  months  later  the  faithful  old 
man  came  in  answer  to  his  request  and  preached  her 
funeral  sermon.  Something  in  the  lad's  wistful  eyes 
that  day  fired  him  with  eloquence.  Through  all  life 
the  words  rang  with  strange  solemn  power  in  the 
Boy's  heart: 

"O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting!  O  grave,  where  is 
thy  victory!  Blessed  are  they  that  die  in  the  Lord! 

89 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Death  is  not  the  chill  shadow  of  the  night — but  the 
grey  light  of  the  dawn — the  dawn  of  a  new  eternal 
day.  Lift  up  your  eyes  and  see  its  beauty.  Open 
your  ears  and  hear  the  stir  of  its  wondrous  life!" 

When  the  last  friend  had  gone,  the  forlorn  little 
figure  stood  beside  the  grave  alone.  There  was  a 
wistful  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  slowly  whispered: 

"I'll  not  forget,  Ma,  dear— I'll  not  forget.  I'll  live 
for  you." 

Nor  did  he  forget.  In  her  slender  figure  a  new 
force  had  appeared  in  human  history.  The  peasant 
woman  of  the  old  world  has  ever  taught  her  child  con 
tentment  with  his  lot.  And  patient  millions  beyond 
the  seas  bend  their  backs  without  a  murmur  to  the 
task  their  fathers  bore  three  thousand  years  ago. 

Free  America  has  given  the  race  a  new  peasant 
woman.  Born  among  the  lowliest  of  her  kind,  she 
walks  earth's  way  with  her  feet  in  the  dust,  her  head 
among  the  stars. 

This  one  died  young  in  the  cabin  beside  the  deep 
woods,  but  not  before  her  hand  had  kindled  a  fire  of 
divine  discontent  in  the  soul  of  her  son  that  only  God 
could  extinguish. 


90 


CHAPTER    I 

THE     MAN     OF     THE     HOUR 

"It's   positively   uncanny " 

Betty  Winter  paused  on  the  top  step  of  the  Capitol 
and  gazed  over  the  great  silent  crowd  with  a  shiver. 

"The  silence — yes/'  Ned  Vaughan  answered  slowly. 
"I  wondered  if  you  had  felt  it,  too." 

"It's  more  like  a  funeral  than  an  Inauguration." 

The  young  reporter  smiled: 

"If  you  believe  General  Scott  there  may  be  several 
funerals  in  Washington  before  the  day's  work  is 
done." 

"And  you  don't  believe  him?"  the  girl  asked 
seriously. 

"Nonsense !  All  this  feverish  preparation  for  vio 
lence " 

Betty  laughed: 

"I'm  afraid  you're  not  a  good  judge  of  the  needs 
of  the  incoming  administration.  As  an  avowed  Seces 
sionist — you're  hardly  in  their  confidence." 

"Thank  God,  I'm  not." 

"What  are  those  horses  doing  over  there  by  the 
trees?" 

"Masked  battery  of  artillery." 

"Don't  be  silly!" 

"It's  true.  Old  Scott's  going  to  save  the  Capital 

93 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


on  Inauguration  Day  any  how!  The  Avenue's  lined 
with  soldiers — sharpshooters  posted  in  the  windows 
along  the  whole  route  of  the  Inaugural  procession,  a 
company  of  troops  in  each  end  of  the  Capitol.  He 
has  built  a  wooden  tunnel  from  the  street  into  the 
north  end  of  the  building  and  that's  lined  with  guards. 
A  squad  of  fifty  soldiers  are  under  the  platform 
where  we're  going  to  sit " 

"No !" 

"Look  through  the  cracks  and  see  for  yourself!" 
Vaughan  cried  with  scorn. 

The  sparkling  brown  eyes  were  focused  on  the  board 
platform. 

"I  do  see  them  moving,"  she  said  slowly,  as  a  look 
of  deep  seriousness  swept  the  fair  young  face.  "Per 
haps  General  Scott's  right  after  all.  Father  says 
we're  walking  on  a  volcano " 

"But  not  that  kind  of  a  volcano,  Miss  Betty," 
Vaughan  interrupted.  "Senator  Winter's  an  Aboli 
tionist.  He  hates  the  South  with  every  breath  he 
breathes." 

Betty  nodded: 

"And  prays  God  night  and  morning  to  give  him 
greater  strength  with  which  to  hate  it  harder — 
yes " 

"But  you're  not  so  blind?" 

"There  must  be  a  little  fire  where  there's  so  much 
smoke.  A  crazy  fool  might  try  to  kill  the  new  Presi 
dent." 

Ned  Vaughan's  slender  figure  stiffened: 

"The  South  won't  fight  that  way.  If  they  begin 
war  it  will  be  the  most  solemn  act  of  life.  It  will  be 
for  God  and  country,  and  what  they  believe  to  be 

94 


THE   MAN   OF   THE   HOUR 

right.     The  Southern  people  are  not  assassins.     When 
they  take  Washington  it  will  be  with  the  bayonet." 

"And  yet  your  brother  had  a  taste  of  Southern 
feeling  here  the  night  of  the  election  when  a  mob  broke 
in  and  smashed  the  office  of  the  Republican." 

"A  gang  of  hoodlums,"   he   protested.     "Anything    ' 
may  happen  on  election  night  to  an  opposition  news 
paper.     The  Southern  men  who  formed  that  mob  will 
never   give   this    administration   trouble " 

"I'm  so  anxious  to  meet  your  brother,"  Betty  in 
terrupted.  "Why  doesn't  he  come?" 

"He's  in  the  Senate  Chamber  for  the  ceremonies. 
He'll  join  us  before  the  procession  gets  here." 

"He's  as  handsome  as  everybody  says?"  she  asked 
naively. 

"I'll  admit  he's  a  good-looking  fellow  if  he  is  my 
brother." 

"And  vain?" 

"As   a   peacock " 

"Conceited?" 

"Very." 

"And  a  woman  hater!" 

"Far  from  it — he's  easy.  He  may  not  think  so, 
but  between  us  he's  an  easy  mark.  I've  always  been 
afraid  he'll  make  a  fool  of  himself  and  marry  without 
the  consent  of  his  younger  brother.  He's  a  great  care 
to  me." 

The  brown  eyes  twinkled: 

"You  love  him  very  much?" 

Ned  Vaughan  nodded  his  dark  head  slowly: 

"Yes.  We've  quarrelled  every  day  since  the  elec 
tion." 

"Over  politics?" 

95 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"What  else?" 

"Love,  perhaps." 

The  dark  eyes  met  hers. 

"No,  he  hasn't  seen  you  yet- 


Betty's   laugh   was   genial   and   contagious. 

He  had  meant  to  be  serious  and  hoped  that  she 
would  give  him  the  opening  he'd  been  sparring  for. 
But  she  refused  the  challenge  with  such  amusement 
he  was  piqued. 

"You're  from  Missouri,  but  you're  a  true  South 
erner,  Mr.  Vaughan." 

"And  you're  a  heartless  Puritan,"  he  answered  with 
a  frown. 

She  shook  her  golden  brown  curls: 

"No — no — no !  My  name's  an  accident.  My  father 
was  born  in  Maine  on  the  Canada  line.  But  my 
mother  was  French.  I'm  her  daughter.  I  love  sun 
light  and  flowers,  music  and  foolishness — and  dream 
of  troubadours  who  sing  under  my  window.  I  hate 
long  faces  and  gloom.  But  my  father  has  ambition. 
I  love  him,  and  so  I  endure  things." 

Ned  Vaughan  looked  at  her  timidly.  For  the  life 
of  him  he  couldn't  make  her  out.  Was  she  laughing 
at  him?  He  half  suspected  it,  and  yet  there  was 
something  sweet  and  appealing  in  the  way  she  gazed 
into  his  eyes.  He  gave  it  up  and  changed  the  subject. 

He  had  promised  to  bring  John  to-day  and  intro 
duce  him.  He  had  been  prattling  like  a  fool  about 
this  older  brother.  He  wished  to  God  now  something 
would  keep  him.  The  pangs  of  jealousy  had  already 
began  to  gnaw  at  the  thought  of  her  hand  resting 
in  his. 

From  the  way  Betty  Winter  had  laughed  she  was 

96 


THE   MAN   OF    THE   HOUR 

quite  capable  of  flying  two  strings  to  her  bow.  And 
with  all  the  keener  interest  because  they  happened 
to  be  brothers.  Why  had  she  asked  him  so  pointedly 
about  John?  He  had  excited  her  curiosity,  of  course, 
by  his  silly  brother — hero-worship.  He  had  told 
her  of  his  brilliant  career  in  New  York  under  Horace 
Greeley  on  the  Tribune — of  Greeley's  personal  inter 
est,  and  the  flattering  letter  he  had  written  to  Colonel 
Forney,  which  had  made  him  the  city  editor  of  the 
New  Party  organ  in  Washington — of  his  cool  heroism 
the  night  the  mob  had  attacked  the  Republican  office — 
and  last  he  had  hinted  of  an  affair  over  a  woman  in 
New  York  that  had  led  to  a  challenge  and  a  blood 
less  duel — bloodless  because  his  opponent  failed  to 
appear.  It  was  his  own  fault,  of  course,  if  Betty  was 
keeping  him  at  arm's  length  to-day.  No  girl  could 
fail  to  be  interested  in  such  a  man — no  matter  who 
her  father  might  be — Puritan  or  Cavalier. 

His  arm  trembled  in  spite  of  his  effort  at  self- 
control  as  he  led  her  down  the  stately  steps  of  the 
eastern  fa9ade  toward  the  Inaugural  platform.  He 
paused  on  the  edge  of  the  boards  and  pointed  to  the 
huge  bronze  figure  of  the  statue  of  Liberty  which  had 
been  cast  to  crown  the  dome  of  the  Capitol.  It 
lay  prostrate  in  the  mud  and  the  crowds  were  climbing 
over  it. 

"I  wonder  if  Miss  Liberty  will  ever  be  lifted  to 
her  place  on  high?"  he  said  musingly. 

"If  they  do  finish  the  dome,"  Betty  replied,  "and 
crown  it  with  that  bronze,  my  father  should  sue  for 
damages.  One  of  his  most  eloquent  figures  of  speech 
will  be  ruined.  That  prostrate  work  of  art  lying  in 
the  mud  has  given  thousands  of  votes  to  the  Repub- 

97 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


licans.     I've  caught  myself  crying  over  his  eloquence 
at  times  myself." 

Ned  Vaughan  smiled: 

"A  queer  superstition  has  grown  up  in  Washington 
that  the  dome  of  the  Capitol  will  never  be  com 
pleted " 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 

"No.  It  will  be  finished.  But  I'm  not  sure  whether 
Abraham  Lincoln  or  Jefferson  Davis  will  preside  on 
that  occasion." 

"And  I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  on  that  point," 
Betty  said  with  quick  emphasis. 

"I  thought  you  were  not  a  student  of  politics?" 
he  dryly  observed. 

"I'm  not.  It's  just  a  feeling.  Women  know  things 
by  intuition." 

The  young  man  glanced  upward  at  the  huge  crane 
which  swung  from  the  unfinished  structure  of  the  dome. 

"Anyhow,    Miss    Betty,"   he    said   smilingly,    "your 
•  Black  Republican  President  has   a  beautiful  day   for 
the    Inaugural." 

"We'll  hope  it's  a  sign  for  the  future — shall  we?" 

"I  hope  so,"  was  the  serious  answer.  "God  knows 
there  haven't  been  many  happy  signs  lately.  It  was 
dark  and  threatening  at  dawn  this  morning  and  a  few 
drops  of  rain  fell  up  to  eight  o'clock." 

"You  were  up  at  dawn?"  the  girl  asked  in  surprise. 

"Yes.  The  Senate  has  been  in  session  all  night 
over  the  new  amendment  to  the  Constitution  guarantee- 
ing  to  the  South  security  in  the  possession  of  their 
slaves." 

"And    they    passed    it?" 

"Yes " 

98 


THE   MAN   OF   THE   HOUR 

"Over  my  father's  prostrate  form?" 

"Yes — an  administrative  measure,  too.  I've  an  idea 
from  the  'moderation'  of  your  father's  remarks  that 
there'll  be  some  fun  between  the  White  House  and  the 
Senate  Chamber  during  the  next  four  years.  For  my 
part  I  share  his  scorn  for  such  eleventh  hour  re 
pentance.  It's  too  late.  The  mischief  has  been  done. 
Secession  is  a  fact  and  we've  got  to  face  it." 

"But  we  haven't  heard  from  the  new  President 
yet,"  Betty  ventured. 

"No.  That's  why  this  crowd's  so  still.  For  the  first 
time  since  the  foundation  of  the  government,  the  thou 
sands  banked  in  front  of  this  platform  really  wish  to 
hear  what  a  President-elect  has  to  say." 

"Isn't  that  a  tremendous  tribute  to  the  man?" 

"Possibly  so — possibly  not.  He  has  been  silent 
since  his  election.  Not  a  word  has  fallen  from  his 
lips  to  indicate  his  policy.  He  has  more  real  power 
from  the  moment  he  takes  the  oath  of  office  than  any 
crowned  head  of  Europe.  From  his  lips  to-day  will 
fall  the  word  that  means  peace  or  war.  That's  why 
this  crowd's  so  still." 

"It's  weird,"  Betty  whispered.  "You  can  feel  their 
very  hearts  beat.  Do  you  suppose  the  new  President 
realizes  the  meaning  of  such  a  moment?" 

"I  don't  think  this  one  will.  I  interviewed  Stanton, 
the  retiring  Attorney  General  of  Buchanan's  Cabinet, 
yesterday.  He  knows  Lincoln  personally — was  with 
him  in  a  lawsuit  once  before  the  United  States  Court. 
Stanton  says  he's  a  coward  and  a  fool  and  the  ugliest 
white  man  who  ever  appeared  on  this  planet.  He 
has  already  christened  him  'The  Original  Gorilla,'  or 
'The  Illinois  Ape' " 

99 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"I  wonder,"  Betty  broke  in  with  petulance,  "if 
such  a  man  could  be  elected  President?  I'm  morbidly 
curious  to  see  him.  My  father,  as  an  Abolitionist, 
had  to  vote  for  him  and  he  must  support  his  adminis 
tration  as  a  Republican  Senator.  But  his  favorite 
name  for  the  new  Chief  Magistrate  is,  'The  Illinois 
Slave  Hound.'  I've  a  growing  feeling  that  his  enemies 
have  overdone  their  work.  I'm  going  to  judge  him 
fairly." 

Vaughan's  lips  slightly  curved. 

"They  say  he's  a  good  stump  speaker — a  little 
shy  on  grammar,  perhaps,  but  good  on  jokes — of  the 
coarser  kind.  He  ought  to  get  one  or  two  good  guf 
faws  even  out  of  this  sober  crowd  to-day." 

"You   think   he'll    stoop   to    coarse   jokes?" 

"Of  course " 

"Is  that  your  brother?"  Betty  asked  with  a  quick 
intake  of  breath,  lifting  her  head  toward  a  stalwart 
figure  rapidly  coming  down  the  wide  marble  steps. 

Ned  Vaughan  looked  up  with   a  frown: 

"How  did  you  recognize  him?" 

"By  his  resemblance  to  you,  of  course." 

"Thanks." 

"You're  as  much  alike  as  two  black-eyed  peas — 
except  that  you're  more  slender  and  boyish.'* 

"And  not  quite  so  good-looking?" 

A  low  mischievous  laugh  was  her  answer  as  John 
lifted  his  hat  and  stood  smiling  before  them. 

"Miss  Winter,  this  is  my  brother,  whose  praises 
I've  long  been  chanting.  I've  a  little  work  to  do  in 
the  crowd — I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

There  was  just  a  touch  of  irony  in  the  smile  with 
which  the  younger  man  spoke  as  he  hurried  away,  but 

100 


THE   MAN   OF    THE   HGUX 

the  girl  was  too  much  absorbed  in  the  striking  picture 
John  Vaughan  made  to  notice.  The  sparkling  brown 
eyes  took  him  in  from  head  to  foot  in  a  quick  com 
prehending  flash.  The  fame  of  his  personal  appear 
ance  was  more  than  justified.  He  was  the  most  strik 
ingly  good-looking  man  she  had  even  seen,  and  to  her 
surprise  there  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of  self- 
consciousness  or  conceit  about  him.  His  high  intel 
lectual  forehead,  thick  black  hair  inclined  to  curl  at 
the  ends  and  straight  heavy  eyebrows  suggested  at 
once  a  man  of  brains  and  power.  He  looked  older 
than  he  was — at  least  thirty,  though  he  had  just 
turned  twenty-six.  The  square  strong  jaw  and  large 
chin  were  eloquent  of  reserve  force.  Two  rows  of 
white,  perfect  teeth  smiled  behind  the  black  drooping 
moustache  and  invited  friendship.  The  one  disquiet 
ing  feature  about  him  was  the  look  from  the  depths 
of  his  dark  b»own  eyes — so  dark  they  were  black  in 
shadow.  He  had  been  a  dreamer  when  very  young 
and  followed  Charles  A.  Dana  to  Brook  Farm  for  a 
brief  stay. 

Before  he  had  spoken  a  dozen  words  the  girl  felt 
the  charm  of  his  singular  and  powerful  personality. 

"I  needn't  say  that  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Miss 
Winter,"  he  began,  with  a  friendly  smile.  "Ned  has 
told  me  so  much  about  you  the  past  month  I'd  made 
up  my  mind  to  join  the  Abolitionists,  and  apply  for 
a  secretaryship  to  the  Senator  if  I  couldn't  manage 
it  any  other  way." 

"And  you'll  be  content  to  resume  a  normal  life 
after  to-day?" 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  with  mischievous  chal 
lenge.  She  had  recovered  her  poise. 

101 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


He  laughed,  and  a  shadow  suddenly  swept  his  face: 

"I  wonder,  Miss  Winter,  if  any  of  us  will  live  a 
normal  life  after  to-day?" 

"You've  seen  the  Rail-splitter,  our  new  President?" 

"No,  I  didn't  wait  in  the  Senate  Chamber.  I  came 
out  here  to  make  sure  of  my  seat  beside  you " 

"To  hear  every  word  of  the  Inaugural,  of  course," 
Betty  broke  in. 

"Yes,  of  course "  he  paused  and  the  faintest 

suggestion  of  a  smile  flickered  about  the  corners  of 
his  eyes.  "Ned  told  me  you  had  three  good  seats.  I 
am  anxious  to  hear  what  he  says — but  more  anxious 
to  see  him  when  he  says  it.  I  can  read  his  Inaugural, 
but  I  want  to  see  the  soul  of  the  man  behind  its 
conventional  phrases " 

"He'll  use  conventional  phrases?" 

"Certainly.  They  all  do.  But  no  man  ever  came 
to  the  Presidential  chair  with  as  little  confidence  back 
of  him.  The  Abolitionists  have  already  begun  to  de 
nounce  him  before  he  has  taken  the  oath  of  office. 
The  rank  and  file  of  the  party  that  elected  him  are 
not  Abolitionists  and  never  for  a  moment  believed 
that  the  Southern  people  were  in  earnest  when  they 
threatened  Secession  during  the  campaign.  We 
thought  it  bluff.  To  say  that  the  whole  North  and 
West  is  panic-stricken  is  the  simple  truth. 

"Horace  Greeley  and  the  Tribune  are  for  Secession. 

"  'Let  our  erring  sisters  go !'  the  editor  tells 
the  millions  who  hang  on  his  words  as  the  oracle  of 
heaven. 

"The  North  has  been  talking  Secession  for  thirty 
years,  and  now  that  the  South  is  doing  what  they've 
been  threatening,  we  wake  up  and  try  to  persuade  our- 

102 


THE   MAN   OF   THE   HOUR 

selves  that  no  such  right  exists  in  a  sovereign  state. 
Yet  we  all  know  that  Great  Britain  surrendered  to 
the  thirteen  colonies  as  sovereign  states  and  named 
each  one  of  them  in  her  articles  of  surrender  and  our 
treaty  of  peace.  We  know  that  there  never  would 
have  been  a  Constitution  or  a  Union  if  the  men  who 
drew  it  and  created  the  Union  had  dared  to  ques 
tion  the  right  of  either  of  these  sovereign  states  to 
withdraw  when  they  wished.  They  didn't  dare  to  raise 
the  question.  They  left  it  for  their  children  to  settle. 
Now  we're  facing  it  with  a  vengeance. 

"Our  fathers  only  dreamed  a  Union.  They  never 
lived  to  see  it.  This  country  has  always  been  an 
aggregation  of  jangling,  discordant,  antagonistic  sec 
tions.  How  is  this  man  who  comes  into  power  to-day, 
this  humble  rail-splitter,  this  County  Court  advocate, 
to  achieve  what  our  greatest  statesmen  have  tried  for 
nearly  a  hundred  years  and  failed  to  do?  Seward, 
the  man  he  has  called  to  be  Secretary  State,  has  been 
here  for  two  months,  juggling  with  his  enemies.  He's 
a  Secessionist  at  heart  and  expects  the  Union  to  be 
divided " 

"Surely,"  Betty  interrupted,  "you  can't  believe 
that." 

"It's  true.  We  don't  dare  say  this  in  our  paper, 
but  we  know  it.  So  sure  is  Seward  of  the  collapse 
of  the  Lincoln  administration  that  he  withdrew  his 
acceptance  of  the  post  of  Secretary  of  State,  only 
day  before  yesterday.  It's  uncertain  at  this  hour 
whether  he'll  be  in  the  cabinet " 

"Why?"  Betty  asked  in  breathless-  surprise. 

The  young  editor  was  silent  a  moment  and  spoke  in 
low  tones: 

103 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"You  can  keep  a  secret?" 

"State  secrets— easily." 

"Mr.  Seward  expects  to  be  called  to  a  position  of 
greater  power  than  President " 

"You    mean?" 

"The  Dictatorship.  That's  the  talk  in  the  inner 
circles.  Nobody  in  the  North  expects  war  or  wants 
war " 

"Except  my  father,"  Betty  laughed. 

"The  Abolitionists  don't  count.  If  we  have  war 
there  are  not  enough  of  them  to  form  a  corporal's 
guard — to  say  nothing  of  an  army.  The  North  is 
hoplessly  divided  and  confused.  If  the  South  unites — 
if  North  Carolina,  Virginia,  Tennessee,  Kentucky, 
Arkansas,  Missouri  and  Maryland  join  the  Confed 
eracy  under  Davis,  the  Union  is  lost.  What's  going 
to  hinder  them  from  uniting?  They  are  all  Slave 
States.  They  believe  the  new  President  is  a  Black 
Abolitionist  Republican.  He  isn't,  of  course,  but  they 
believe  it.  How  can  he  reassure  them?  The  States 
that  have  already  plunged  into  Secession  have  hauled 
the  flag  down  from  every  fort  and  arsenal  except 
Sumter  and  Pickens.  The  new  President  can  only  re 
take  these  forts  by  force.  The  first  shot  fired  will 
sweep  every  Slave  State  out  of  the  Union  and  arraign 
the  millions  of  Democratic  voters  in  the  North  solidly 
against  the  Government.  God  pity  the  man  who  takes 
the  oath  to-day  to  preserve,  protect  and  defend  the 
Constitution !" 

When  John  Vaughan's  voice  died  away  at  last  into 
a  passionate  whisper,  Betty  stood  looking  at  him  in 
a  spell.  She  recovered  herself  with  a  start  and  a 
smile. 

104< 


THE   MAN   OF    THE   HOUR 

"You've  mistaken  your  calling,  Mr.  Vaughan,"  she 
said  with  emotion. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"You're  a  statesman — not  an  editor — you  should 
be  in  the  Cabinet." 

"Much  obliged,  Miss  Betty — but  I'm  not  in  this 
one,  thank  you.  Besides,  you're  mistaken.  I'm  only 
an  intelligent  observer  and  reporter  of  events.  I've 
never  had  the  will  to  do  creative  things." 

"Why?" 

"The  responsibility  is  too  great.  Fools  rush  in 
where  angels  fear  to  tread.  Only  God  Almighty  can 
save  this  Nation  to-day.  It's  too  much  to  expect  of 
one  man." 

"Yet  God  must  use  man,  mustn't  He?" 

"Yes.  That's  why  my  soul  goes  out  in  sympathy 
to  the  lonely  figure  who  steps  out  of  obscurity  and 
poverty  to-day  to  do  this  impossible  thing.  No  such 
responsibility  was  ever  before  laid  on  the  shoulders 
of  one  man.  In  all  the  history  of  the  world  he  has 
no  precedent,  no  guide " 

Ned  interrupted  the  flow  of  John's  impassioned 
speech  by  suddenly  appearing  with  uplifted  hand. 

"Never  such  a  crowd  as  this !" 

"Why,  they  say  it's  smaller  than  usual!"  Betty 
exclaimed. 

"I  don't  mean  size,"  Ned  went  on  rapidly.  "It's 
their  temper  that's  remarkable.  An  Inauguration 
crowd  should  support  the  administration.  The  Lord 
help  the  Rail-splitter  if  that  sullen  dumb  mob  are  his 
constituents  !  Half  of  them  are  downright  hostile " 

"Washington's   a   Southern  town,"  John   remarked. 

"They  are  not  Washington  folks — not  one  in  a 
105 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


hundred.  And  the  only  honest  backers  old  Abe  seems 
to  have  are  about  a  thousand  serious  young  fellows 
from  the  West,  whom  General  Scott  has  armed  as  a 
special  guard  to  circle  the  crowd." 

He  paused  and  pointed  to  a  group  of  a  dozen 
Westerners  standing  beside  a  bush  in  the  outer  rim 
of  the  throng. 

"There's  a  bunch  of  them — and  there's  one  sta 
tioned  every  ten  yards.  The  artillery  in  position, 
the  infantry  in  line,  the  sharpshooters  masked  in 
windows,  the  guard  under  the  platform  with  muskets 
cocked,  and  a  thousand  volunteers  to  threaten  the 
crowd  from  without,  I  think  the  new  President  should 
get  a  respectful  hearing!  The  procession  is  coming 
up  the  Avenue  now  with  a  guard  of  sappers  and 
miners  packed  so  closely  around  the  open  carriage 
you  can't  even  see  the  top  of  old  Abe's  head " 

"Let's  get  our  seats!"  Betty  cried. 

They  had  scarcely  taken  them  when  a  ripple  of 
excitement  swept  the  crowd  as  every  head  was  turned 
toward  the  aisle  that  led  down  the  centre  of  the 
platform. 

"Oh,  it's  Mrs.  Lincoln  and  the  children  and  her 
sisters !"  Betty  exclaimed.  "What  perfect  taste  in  her 
dress !  She  knows  how  to  wear  it,  too.  What  a 
typical,  plump,  self-poised  Southern  matron  she  looks. 
And,  oh,  those  darling  little  boys — aren't  they  dears! 
She's  a  Kentuckian,  too — the  irony  of  Fate!  A 
Southerner  with  a  Southern  wife  entering  the  White 
House  and  eight  great  Southern  States  seceding  from 
the  Union  because  of  it.  It's  a  funny  world,  isn't  it?" 

"The  South  hardly  claims  Mr.  Lincoln  as  a  South 
erner,"  Ned  remarked  dryly. 

106 


THE   MAN   OF    THE   HOUR 

"Claim  it  or  not,  he  is,"  John  declared,  nodding 
toward  Betty,  "as  truly  a  Southerner  as  Jefferson 
Davis.  They  were  both  born  in  Kentucky  almost  on 
the  same  day " 

Another  ripple  of  excitement  and  the  Diplomatic 
Corps  entered  with  measured  stately  tread,  their 
gorgeous  uniforms  flashing  in  the  sun.  They  took 
their  seats  on  the  left  of  the  canopy,  Lord  Lyons, 
the  British  minister,  seated  beside  the  representative 
of  the  Court  of  France,  two  men  destined  to  play 
their  parts  in  the  drama  of  Life  and  Death  on  whose 
first  act  the  curtain  of  history  was  slowly  rising. 

The  black-robed  Supreme  Court  of  the  Republic, 
in  cap  and  gown,  slowly  followed  and  took  their 
places  on  the  right,  opposite  the  Diplomatic  Corps. 

The  Marine  band  struck  the  first  notes  of  the  Na 
tional  Hymn  amid  a  silence  whose  oppressiveness  could 
be  felt.  The  tension  of  a  great  fear  had  gripped  the 
hearts  of  the  crowd  with  icy  fingers.  The  stoutest 
soul  felt  its  spell  and  was  powerless  to  shake  it  off. 

Was  it  the  end  of  the  Republic?  Or  the  storm 
clouded  dawn  of  a  new  and  more  wonderful  life?  God 
only  could  tell,  and  there  were  few  men  present  who 
dared  to  venture  a  prediction. 

A  wave  of  subdued  excitement  rippled  the  throng 
and  every  eye  was  focused  on  the  procession  from 
the  Senate  Chamber. 

"They're  coming!"  Betty  whispered  excitedly. 

The  contrast  between  the  retiring  President,  James 
Buchanan,  and  Abraham  Lincoln  was  startling  even 
at  the  distance  of  the  first  view  from  the  platform. 
The  man  of  the  old  era  was  heavy  and  awkward  in 
his  movements,  far  advanced  in  years,  with  thin  snow 

107 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


white  hair,  his  pallid  full  face  seamed  and  wrinkled 
and  his  head  curiously  inclined  to  the  left  shoulder. 
An  immense  white  cravat  like  a  poultice  pushed  his 
high  standing  collar  up  to  the  ears.  The  sharp  con 
trast  of  the  black  swallow-tailed  coat,  with  the  dead 
white  of  cravat,  collar,  face  and  hair,  suggested  the 
uncanny  idea  of  a  moving  corpse. 

With  his  eyes  fixed  on  Buchanan,  John  suddenly 
exclaimed : 

"A  man  who's  dead  and  don't  know  it!" 

Only  for  a  moment  did  the  actual  President  hold 
the  eye.  The  man  of  the  hour  loomed  large  at  the 
head  of  the  procession  and  instantly  fixed  the  atten 
tion  of  every  man  and  woman  within  the  range  of 
vision.  His  giant  figure  seemed  to  tower  more  than 
a  foot  above  his  surroundings.  Everything  about  him 
was  large — an  immense  head,  crowned  with  thick  shock 
of  coarse  black  hair,  his  strong  jaws  rimmed  with 
bristling  new  whiskers,  long  arms  and  longer  legs, 
large  hands,  big  features,  every  movement  quick  and 
powerful.  The  first  impression  was  one  of  enormous 
strength.  He  looked  every  inch  the  stalwart  back 
woods  athlete,  capable  of  all  the  feats  of  physical 
strength  campaign  stories  had  credited  to  his  record. 
One  glance  at  his  magnificent  frame  and  no  one  doubted 
the  boast  of  his  admirers  that  he  could  lift  a  thou 
sand  pounds,  five  hundred  in  each  hand,  or  bend  an 
iron  poker  by  striking  it  across  the  muscle  of  his  arm. 

As  he  reached  the  speaker's  stand  beneath  the 
crowded  canopy,  there  was  an  instant's  awkward  pause. 
In  his  new  immaculate  dress  suit  with  black  satin 
vest,  shining  silk  hat  and  gold-headed  cane,  he  seemed 
a  little  ill  at  ease.  He  looked  in  vain  for  a  place  to 

108 


THE   MAN   OF   THE   HOUR 

put  his  hat  and  cane  and  finally  found  a  corner  of  the 
railing  against  which  to  lean  the  stick,  but  there  seemed 
no  place  left   for  his  new  hat.      Senator  Stephen  A. 
Douglas,  his  defeated  Northern  opponent  for  the  Presi-* 
dency,  with  a  friendly  smile,  took  it  from  his  hands. 

As  Douglas  slipped  gracefully  back  to  his  seat,  he 
whispered  to  the  lady  beside  him: 

"If  I  can't  be  President,  at  least  I  can  hold  his 
hat!" 

The  simple,  but  significant,  act  of  courtesy  from 
the  great  leader  of  the  Northern  Democracy  was  not 
lost  on  the  new  Chief  Magistrate.  He  could  hardly 
believe  what  his  eyes  had  seen  at  first,  and  then  he 
smiled.  Instantly  the  rugged  features  were  trans 
formed  and  his  whole  being  was  lighted  with  a  strange 
soft  radiance  whose  warmth  was  contagious. 

Betty's  eyes  were  dancing  with  excitement. 

"He's  not  ugly  at  all !"  she  whispered. 

Ned  softly  laughed: 

"He   certainly   is   not   a   beauty?" 

"Who  expects  beauty  in  a  real  man?"  she  answered,  * 
with  a  touch  of  scorn.  And  Ned  shot  a  look  of  in 
quiry  at  John's  handsome  face.  But  the  older  brother 
was  too  intent  on  the  drama  before  him  to  notice. 
The  editor's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  new  President, 
studying  every  detail  of  his  impressive  personality. 
He  had  never  seen  him  before  and  was  trying  to  form 
a  just  and  accurate  judgment  of  his  character.  Be 
yond  a  doubt  he  was  big  physically — this  impression 
was  overwhelming — everything  large — the  head  with 
its  high  crown  of  skull  and  thick,  bushy  hair,  deep 
cavernous  eyes,  heavy  eyebrows  which  moved  in  quick 
sympathy  with  every  emotion,  large  nose,  large  ears, 

109 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


large  mouth,  large,  thick  under  lip,  very  high  cheek 
bones,  massive  jaw  bones  with  upturned  chin,  a  sinewy 
long  neck,  long  arms,  and  large  hands,  long  legs,  and 
big  feet.  A  giant  physically — and  yet  somehow  he 
gave  the  impression  of  excessive  gauntness  and  about 
his  face  there  dwelt  a  strange  impression  of  sadness 
and  spiritual  anguish.  The  hollowness  of  his  cheeks 
accented  by  his  swarthy  complexion  emphasized  this. 

The  crowd  had  recognized  him  instantly,  but  with 
out  the  slightest  applause.  The  silence  was  intense, 
oppressive,  painful.  John  glanced  up  and  saw  the 
huge  figure  of  Senator  Wigfall,  of  Texas,  looking  down 
on  the  scene  from  the  base  of  one  of  the  white  columns 
of  the  central  fa9ade.  He  waved  his  arm  defiantly 
and  laughed.  His  presence  in  the  Senate  after  all  his 
associates  had  withdrawn  was  the  subject  of  keen 
speculation.  He  was  believed  to  be  a  spy  of  the  Con 
federate  Government.  He  had  asked  General  Scott, 
half  in  jest,  if  he  would  dare  to  arrest  a  Senator  of 
the  United  States  for  treason.  The  answer  was  sig 
nificant  of  the  times.  Looking  the  Senator  straight 
in  the  eye  the  old  hero  slowly  said: 

"No— I'd  blow  him  to  hell!" 

Evidently  the  Senator  was  not  as  yet  unduly 
alarmed.  His  expression  of  triumphant  contempt  for 
the  evident  lack  of  enthusiasm  could  not  be  mistaken. 
When  John  Vaughan  recalled  the  confusion  in  the 
ranks  of  the  triumphant  party  he  knew  that  the  Sen 
ator's  scorn  would  be  redoubled  if  he  but  knew  half 
the  truth.  Again  he  turned  toward  the  tall,  lonely 
man  with  sinking  heart. 

The  ceremony  moved  swiftly.  The  silence  was  too 
oppressive  to  admit  delay.  Senator  Baker,  of  Oregon, 

110 


THE  MAN   OF   THE   HOUR 

the  warm  personal  friend  of  Lincoln,  stepped  quickly 
to  the  edge  of  the  platform.  With  hand  outstretched 
in  an  easy  graceful  gesture,  he  said: 

"Fellow  Citizens :  I  introduce  to  you  Abraham  Lin 
coln,  the  President-elect  of  the  United  States  of 
America." 

Again  the  silence  of  death,  as  the  once  ragged, 
lonely,  barefoot  boy  from  a  Kentucky  cabin  stepped 
forward  into  the  fiercest  light  that  ever  beat  on  human 
head. 

He  quickly  adjusted  his  glasses,  drew  his  tall  figure 
to  its  full  height,  and  began  to  read  his  address,  his 
face  suddenly  radiant  with  the  poise  of  conscious  re 
serve  power,  oblivious  of  crowd,  ceremony,  hostility  or 
friendship.  His  voice  was  strong,  high  pitched,  clear, 
ringing,  and  his  articulation  singularly  and  beauti 
fully  perfect.  His  words  carried  to  the  outer  edge  of 
the  vast  silent  throng. 

Betty  watched  his  mobile  features  with  increasing 
fascination.  His  bushy  eyebrows  and  the  muscles 
of  his  sensitive  face  moved  and  flashed  in  sympathy 
with  every  emotion.  In  a  countenance  of  such  large 
and  rugged  lines  every  movement  spoke  unusual  power. 
The  lift  of  an  eyebrow,  the  curve  of  the  lip,  the  flash  of 
the  eye  were  gestures  more  eloquent  than  the  impas 
sioned  sweep  of  the  ordinary  orator's  arm.  He  made 
no  gesture  with  hand  or  arm  or  the  mass  of  his 
towering  body.  No  portrait  of  this  man  had  ever 
been  made.  She  had  seen  many  pictures  and  not  one 
of  them  had  suggested  the  deep,  subtle,  indirect  ex 
pression  of  his  face — something  that  seemed  to  link 
him  with  the  big  forces  of  nature. 

The  crowd  was  feeling  this  now  and  men  were  lean- 
Ill 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


ing  forward  from  their  seats  on  the  platform.  The 
venerable  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court,  Roger 
*  B.  Taney,  whose  clear,  accurate  and  mercilessly 
logical  decision  on  Slavery  had  created  the  storm  which 
swept  Lincoln  into  power,  was  watching  him  with 
bated  breath,  and  not  for  an  instant  during  the  In 
augural  address  did  he  lower  his  sombre  eyes  from  the 
face  of  the  speaker. 

John  C.  Breckenridge,  the  retiring  Vice-President, 
his  defeated  opponent  from  the  Southern  States,  the 
proud  Kentucky  chevalier,  was  listening  with  keen  and 
painful  intensity,  his  handsome  cultured  features  pale 
with  the  consciousness  of  coming  tragedy. 

His  opening  words  had  been  reassuring  to  the 
South,  but  woke  no  response  from  the  silent  thousands 
who  stood  before  him  as  he  went  on: 

"I  have  no  purpose  directly  or  indirectly  to  in- 
*  terfere  with  the  institution  of  Slavery  in  the  States 
where  it  exists.  I  believe  I  have  no  lawful  right  to 
do  so,  and  I  have  no  inclination  to  do  so." 

The    simplicity,    directness    and    clearness    of    this 

statement  could  find  no  parallel  in  the  pompous  words 

of   his    predecessors.      The    man    was    talking   in    the 

4  language  of  the  people.     It  was  something  new  under 

the  sun. 

And  then,  with  the  clear  ring  of  a  trumpet,  each 
syllable  falling  clean  cut  and  sharp  with  marvellous 
distinctness,  he  continued: 

"I  hold  that  the  Union  of  these  States  is  per 
petual " 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  his  voice  suddenly  failing 
from  deep  emotion  and  then,  as  if  stung  by  the  silence 
with  which  this  thrilling  thought  was  received,  he 


THE  MAN   OF    THE   HOUR 

uttered  the  only  words  not  written  in  his  manuscript, 
and  made  the  only  gesture  of  his  entire  address.  His 
great  fist  came  down  with  a  resounding  smash  on  the 
table  and  in  tones  heard  by  the  last  man  who  hung 
on  the  edge  of  the  throng,  he  said: 

"No  State  has  the  right  to  secede!" 

And  still  no  cheer  came  from  the  strangely  silent 
crowd — only  a  vague  shiver  swept  the  hearts  of  the 
Southern  people  before  him.  If  the  North  loved  the 
Union  they  were  giving  no  tokens  to  the  tall,  lonely 
figure  on  that  platform. 

At  last  the  sentences,  big  with  the  fate  of  millions, 
were  slowly  and  tenderly  spoken: 

"I  shall  take  care  that  the  laws  of  the  Union  be 
faithfully  executed  in  all  the  States.  Doing  this  I 
deem  to  be  a  simple  duty  on  my  part,  and  I  shall 
perform  it " 

At  last  he  had  touched  the  hidden  powder  maga 
zine  with  an  electric  spark,  and  a  cheer  swept  the 
crowd.  It  died  away  at  last — rose  with  new  power 
and  rose  a  third  time  before  it  subsided,  and  the  clear 
voice  went  on: 

"I  trust  this  will  not  be  regarded  as  a  menace,  but 
only  as  the  declared  purpose  of  the  Union  that  it  will 
constitutionally  defend  and  maintain  itself.  In  doing 
this  there  needs  be  no  bloodshed  or  violence ;  and  there 
shall  be  none  unless  it  be  forced  upon  the  National 
authority.  The  power  confided  in  me  will  be  used  to 
hold  and  occupy  and  possess  the  property  and  places 
belonging  to  the  Government." 

Again  the  powder  mine  exploded,  and  a  cheer  rose. 
The  grim  walls  of  Fort  Sumter  and  Pickens,  in  far 
off  Southern  waters,  flashed  red  before  every  eye. 

113 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  applause  suddenly  died  away  into  the  old 
silence,  and  a  man  in  the  crowd  before  the  platform 
yelled : 

"We're  for  Jefferson  Davis!" 

There  was  no  answer  and  no  disorder — only  the 
shrill  cry  of  the  Southerner  through  the  silence,  and 
the  speaker  continued  his  address.  Senator  Douglas 
looked  uneasily  over  the  crowd  toward  the  spot  from 
whence  came  the  cry.  His  brow  wrinkled  with  a  frown. 

John  Vaughan  leaned  toward  Betty  and  whispered 
half  to  himself: 

"I  wonder  if  those  cheers  were  defiance  after  all?" 

But  the  girl  was  too  intent  on  the  words  of  the 
speaker  to  answer.  His  next  sentence  brought  a  smile 
and  a  nod  of  approval  from  Senator  Douglas. 

"But  beyond  what  may  be  necessary  for  those  ob 
jects,  there  will  be  no  invasion,  no  using  of  force 
against  or  among  the  people  anywhere " 

Again  and  again  Douglas  nodded  his  approval  and 
spoke  it  in  low  tones: 

"Good  !     Good !     That  means  no  coercion." 

And  then,  followed  in  solemn  tones,  the  fateful  sen 
tences  : 

"In  your  hands,  my  dissatisfied  fellow  countrymen, 
and  not  in  mine  is  the  momentous  issue  of  civil  war. 
The  Government  will  not  assail  you  unless  you  first 
assail  it.  You  can  have  no  conflict  without  yourselves 
being  the  aggressors.  You  have  no  oath  registered 
in  Heaven  to  destroy  the  Government,  while  /  shall 
have  the  most  solemn  one  to  'preserve,  protect  and 
defend  it.  You  can  forbear  the  assault  upon  it ;  /  can 
not  shrink  from  the  defense  of  it " 

Again  he  paused,  and  the  crowd  hung  spellbound 
114 


THE   MAN   OF   THE   HOUR 

as  he  began  his  closing  paragraph  in  tender  persuasive 
accents  throbbing  with  emotion,  his  clear  voice  break 
ing  for  the  first  time: 

"I  am  loath  to  close.  We  are  not  enemies,  but 
friends.  We  must  not  be  enemies.  Though  passion 
may  have  strained,  it  must  not  break  our  bonds  of 
affection.  The  mystic  chords  of  memory  stretching 
from  every  battlefield  and  patriot  grave  to  every  living 
heart  and  hearthstone  all  over  this  broad  land  will 
yet  swell  the  chorus  of  the  Union  when  again  touched, 
as  surely  they  will  be,  by  the  better  angels  of  our 
nature." 

The  closing  words  fell  from  his  sensitive  lips  with 
the  sad  dreamy  eyes  blinded  by  tears. 

At  last  he  had  touched  the  hearts  of  all.  The 
sincerity  and  beauty  of  the  simple  appeal  for  the  mo 
ment  hushed  bitterness  and  passion  and  the  cheer  was 
universal. 

The  black-robed  figure  of  the  venerable  Chief  Jus 
tice  stepped  forward  with  extended  open  Bible.  His 
bony,  trembling  fingers  and  cadaverous  intellectual 
face  gave  the  last  touch  of  dramatic  contrast  between 
the  old  and  new  regimes. 

The  tall,  dark  man  reverently  laid  his  left  hand 
on  the  open  Book,  raised  his  right  arm,  and  slowly 
repeated  the  words  of  the  oath: 

"I  do  solemnly  swear  that  I  will  faithfully  execute 
the  office  of  President  of  the  United  States,  and  will, 
to  the  best  of  my  ability,  preserve,  protect  and  de 
fend  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  so  help 
me  God!" 

The  words  had  scarcely  died  on  his  lips  when  the 
distant  boom  of  cannon  proclaimed  the  new  President. 

115 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  crowd  on  the  platform  rose  and  stood  with  un 
covered  heads,  while  the  procession  formed  in  the  same 
order  as  at  its  entrance  and  returned  to  the  White 
House. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  Betty  asked  breath 
lessly,  turning  to  Ned. 

The  firm  young  lips  came  together  with  sudden 
passion: 

"The  argument  has  ended.  To  your  tents,  O  Israel ! 
It  means  war " 

"Nonsense,"  John  broke  in  impetuously.  "It  means 
anything  or  nothing.  It's  hot  and  cold — a  straddle, 
a  contradiction " 

He  paused  and  turned  to  Betty : 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"Of  the  President?"  she  asked  dreamily. 

"Of    his    Inaugural,"    John    corrected. 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  means  peace  or  war,  not 
being  a  statesman,  but  of  one  thing  I'm  sure " 

She  paused  and  Ned  leaned  close: 

"Yes?" 
t     "That  a  great  man  has  appeared  on  the  scene ' 

Both  men  laughed  and  she  went  on  with  deep 
earnestness : 

"I  mean  it — he's  splendid — he's  wonderful!  He's 
a  poet — a  dreamer — and  so  typically  Southern,  Mr. 
Ned  Vaughan.  I  could  easily  picture  him  fighting  a 
duel  over  a  fine  point  of  honor,  as  he  did  once.  He's 
patient,  careful,  wise,  cautious — very  tender  and  very 
strong.  To  me  he's  inspired " 

Again  both  men  laughed. 

"I  honestly  believe  that  God  has  sent  him  into  the 
Kingdom  for  such  a  time  as  this." 

116 


THE   MAN   OF    THE   HOUR 

"You  get  that  impression  from  his  rambling  ad 
dress  with  its  obvious  effort  to  straddle  the  Universe?" 
John  asked  incredulously. 

"Not  from  what  he  said,"  Betty  persisted,  "so 
much  as  the  way  he  said  it — though  I  got  the  very 
clear  idea  that  his  purpose  is  to  save  the  Union. 
He  made  that  thought  ring  through  my  mind  over  all 
others." 

"You  really  like  him?"  Ned  asked  twith  a  cold  smile. 

"I  love  him,"  was  the  eager  answer.  "He's  ador- 
able.  He's  genuine — a  man  of  the  people.  We've 
had  many  Presidents  who  wore  purple  and  fine  linen 
and  professed  democracy — now  we've  the  real  thing. 
I  wonder  if  they'll  crucify  him.  All  through  his  ad 
dress  I  could  see  the  little  ragged  forlorn  boy  stand 
ing  beside  his  mother's  grave  crying  his  heart  out  in 
despair  and  loneliness.  He's  wonderful.  And  he's  not 
overawed  by  these  big  white  pillars  above  us,  either. 
The  man  who  tries  to  set  up  for  a  Dictator  while  he's 
in  the  White  House  will  find  trouble " 

"The  two  leading  men  he  has  called  to  his  cabinet," 
John  broke  in  musingly,  "hold  him  in  contempt." 

"There's  a  surprise  in  store  for  Mr.  Seward  and 
Mr.  Chase,"  Betty  ventured. 

"I'm  afraid  your  father  will  not  agree  with  you, 
Miss  Betty,"  Ned  laughed,  glancing  toward  Senator 
Winter.  "I  foresee  trouble  for  you." 

"No  danger.  My  father  never  quarrels  with  me  over 
politics.  He  just  pities  my  ignorance  and  lets  it  go 
at  that.  He  never  condescends  to  my  level " 

She  stopped  suddenly  and  waved  her  hand  toward 
the  group  of  excited  men  who  had  gathered  around 
Senator  Winter. 

117 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


A  smile  of  recognition  lighted  the  sombre  Puritan 
face,  as  he  pushed  his  friends  aside  and  rapidly  ap 
proached. 

"How's  my  little  girl?"  he  cried  tenderly.  "Enjoy 
the  show?" 

"Yes,  dear,  immensely — you  know  Mr.  John 
Vaughan,  Father,  don't  you?" 

The  old  man  smiled  grimly  as  he  extended  his 
hand: 

"I  know  who  he  is — though  I  haven't  had  the  honor 
of  an  introduction.  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Vaughan 
— though  I  don't  agree  with  many  of  your  editorials." 

"We'll  hope  for  better  things  in  the  future,  Sen 
ator,"  John  laughed. 

"What's  your  impression  of  the  Inaugural,  Sen 
ator?"  Ned  asked,  with  a  twinkle  of  mischief  in  his 
eye. 

"You  are  asking  me  that  as  a  reporter,  young  man, 
or  as  a  friend  of  my  daughter?" 

"Both,  sir." 

"Then  I'll  give  you  two  answers.  One  for  the  public 
and  one  for  you.  I've  an  idea  you're  going  to  be  a 
rebel,  sir " 

"We  hope  not,  Senator,"  John  protested. 

"I've  my  suspicions  from  an  interview  we  had  once. 
But  you're  a  good  reporter,  sir.  I  trust  your  ability 
and  honesty  however  deeply  I  suspect  your  patriotism. 
As  a  Republican  Senator  I  say  to  you  for  publication : 
The  President  couldn't  well  have  said  less.  It  might 
have  been  unwise  to  say  more.  To  you,  as  a  budding 
young  rebel  and  a  friend  of  my  daughter,  I  say,  with 
the  utmost  frankness,  that  I  have  no  power  to  express 
my  contempt  for  that  address.  From  the  lips  of  the 

118 


THE  MAN   OF   THE  HOUR 

man  we  elected  to  strangle  Slavery  fell  the  cowardly 
words : 

"  'I  have  no  purpose  directly  or  indirectly  to  in 
terfere  with  the  institution  of  Slavery  in  the  States 
where  it  exists' " 

The  grim  blue-grey  eyes  flashed  with  rage,  he 
paused  for  breath  and  then,  livid  with  suppressed  emo 
tion,  continued: 

"For  fifty  years  every  man  who  has  stood  on  this 
platform  to  take  the  oath  as  President  has  turned  his 
face  to  the  South  and  bowed  the  knee  to  Baal.  We 

hoped  for  better  things  to-day "  He  paused  a 

moment  and  his  eyes  filled  with  angry  tears: 

"How  long,  O  Lord!     How  long!" 

"But  you  mustn't  forget,  Senator,  that  he  didn't 
run  and  we  didn't  win  on  an  Abolition  platform.  We 
only  raised  the  issue  of  the  extension  of  Slavery  into 
the  new  territories " 

"Yes!"  the  old  man  sneered.  "But  you  didn't  fool 
the  South!  They  are  past  masters  in  the  art  of 
politics.  The  South  is  seceding  because  they  know 
that  the  Republican  Party  was  organized  to  destroy 
Slavery — and  that  its  triumph  is  a  challenge  to  a  life 
and  death  fight  on  that  issue.  It's  a  waste  of  time 
to  beat  the  devil  round  the  stump.  We've  got  to  face 
it.  I  hate  a  trimmer  and  a  coward! — But  don't  you 
dare  print  that  for  a  while,  young  man " 

"Hardly,  sir,"  Ned  answered  with  a  smile. 

"I've  got  to  support  my  own  administration  for  a 
few  days  at  least — and  then ! — well,  we  won't  cross 
any  bridges  till  we  come  to  them." 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  turned  to  John: 

"Come  to  see  us,  Mr.  Vaughan.  Your  paper  should 
119 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


be  a  power  before  the  end  of  the  coming  four  years. 
I  know  Forney,  your  chief.  I'd  like  to  know  you 
better " 

"Thank  you,  Senator,"  the  young  editor  responded 
cordially. 

"Can't  you  dine  with  us  to-morrow  night,  Mr. 
Vaughan?"  Betty  asked,  unconsciously  bending  toward 
his  straight,  well  poised  figure.  Ned  observed  her  with 
a  frown,  and  heard  John's  answer  in  a  sudden  surge 
of  anger. 

"Certainly,  Miss  Betty,  with  pleasure." 

To  Ned's  certain  knowledge  it  was  the  first  invita 
tion  of  the  kind  he  had  accepted  since  his  advent  in 
Washington.  Again  he  cursed  himself  for  a  fool  for 
introducing  them. 

Betty  beamed  her  friendliest  look  straight  into  his 
eyes  and  softly  said: 

"You'll  come,  of  course,  Mr.  Ned?" 

For  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  get  back  his  con 
ventional  tones  for  an  answer.  His  voice  trembled 
in  spite  of  his  effort. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  slowly,  "it  will  not  be  possible. 
I've  an  assignment  at  the  White  House  for  that 
evening." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  left  them. 


CHAPTER  II 

JANGLING     VOICES 

The  roar  of  the  Inauguration  passed,  and  Wash 
ington  was  itself  again — an  old-fashioned  Southern 
town  of  sixty  thousand  inhabitants,  no  longer  asleep 
perhaps,  but  still  aristocratic,  skeptical,  sneering  in 
its  attitude  toward  the  new  administration. 

Behind  the  scenes  in  his  Cabinet  reigned  confusion 
incredible.  The  tall  dark  backwoodsman  who  presided 
over  these  wrangling  giants  appeared  at  first  to  their 
superior  wisdom  a  dazed  spectator. 

He  had  called  them  because  they  were  indispensable. 
Now  that  the  issues  were  to  be  faced,  Mr.  Seward,  Mr. 
Chase,  Mr.  Cameron  and  Mr.  Bates  realized  that  the 
country  lawyer  who  had  won  the  Presidency  over  their 
superior  claims  knew  his  weakness  and  relied  on  their 
strength,  training,  and  long  experience  in  public  af 
fairs. 

Certainly  it  had  not  occurred  to  one  of  them  that 
his  act  in  calling  the  greatest  men  of  his  party,  and 
the  party  of  opposition  as  well,  into  his  Cabinet  was 
a  deed  of  such  intellectual  audacity  that  it  scarcely 
had  a  parallel  in  history. 

Mr.  Seward,  the  Secretary  of  State,  had  reluctantly 
consented  to  enter  the  Cabinet  at  the  last  moment 
as  an  act  of  patriotism  to  save  the  country  from  im 
pending  ruin  too  great  for  any  other  man  to  face. 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


His  attitude  was  a  reasonable  one.  He  was  the  un 
doubted  leader  of  the  triumphant  party. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  on  the  first  day  of 
his  service  as  Secretary  of  State  he  assumed  the  posi 
tion  of  a  Prime  Minister,  whose  duties  included  a 
general  supervision  of  all  the  Departments  of  Gov 
ernment,  as  well  as  a  Regent's  supervision  over  the 
Executive. 

Salmon  P.  Chase,  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, 
at  once  took  up  the  gauntlet  thrown  down  by  his 
rival.  He  not  only  regarded  the  President  with  con 
tempt,  but  he  extended  it  to  the  political  trickster  who 
dared  to  assume  the  airs  of  Premiership  in  a  Demo 
cratic  Republic. 

To  these  Cabinet  meetings  came  no  voices  of  com 
fort  from  the  country.  The  Abolitionist  press,  which 
represented  the  aggressive  conscience  of  the  North, 
continued  to  ridicule  and  denounce  the  Inaugural  ad 
dress  in  unmeasured  terms. 

The  simple  truth  was  soon  apparent  to  the  sombre 
eyes  of  the  President.  He  was  facing  the  gravest 
problem  that  ever  confronted  a  statesman  without  an 
organized  party  on  which  he  could  depend  for  sup 
port.  But  two  of  his  Cabinet  had  any  confidence  in 
his  ability  or  genuine  loyalty — Gideon  Welles,  a 
Northern  Democrat,  and  Montgomery  Blair,  a  South 
ern  aristocrat. 

The  problem  before  him  was  bigger  than  faction, 
bigger  than  party,  bigger  than  Slavery.  Could  a 
government  founded  on  the  genuine  principles  of 
Democracy  live?  Could  such  a  Union  be  held  together 
composed  of  warring  sections  with  vast  territories 
extending  over  thousands  of  miles,  washed  by  two 


JANGLING    VOICES 


oceans  extending  from  the  frozen  mountains  of  Canada 
to  the  endless  summers  of  the  tropics? 

If  the  Southern  people  should  unite  in  a  slave- 
holding  Confederacy,  it  was  not  only  a  question  as  to 
whether  he  could  shape  an  army  mighty  enough  to  con 
quer  them,  the  more  urgent  and  by  far  the  graver 
problem  was  whether  he  could  mould  into  unity  the1* 
warring  factions  of  the  turbulent,  passion-torn  North. 
These  people  who  had  elected  him — could  he  ever  hope 
to  bind  them  into  a  solid  fighting  unit?  If  their  rep 
resentatives  in  his  Cabinet  were  truly  representatives 
the  task  was  beyond  human  power. 

And  yet  the  tall,  lonely  figure  calmly  faced  it  with 
out  a  tremor.  In  the  depths  of  his  cavernous  eyes 
there  burned  a  steady  flame  but  few  of  the  men  about 
him  saw,  or  understood  if  they  saw — that  flame  was 
something  new  in  the  history  of  the  race — a  faith  in 
the  common  man  which  dared  to  give  a  new  valuation 
to  the  individual  and  set  new  standards  for  the  Democ 
racy  of  the  world.  He  believed  that  the  heart  of  the 
masses  of  the  people  North,  South,  East  and  West 
was  sound  at  the  core  and  that  as  their  Chief  Magis 
trate  he  could  ultimately  appeal  to  them  over  the 
heads  of  all  traditions — all  factions,  and  all  accepted 
leaders. 

He  was  the  most  advised  man  and  the  worst  advised 
man  in  history.  It  became  necessary  to  think  for 
himself  or  cease  to  think  at  all. 

General  Scott,  the  venerable  hero  of  Lundy  Lane, 
in  command  of  the  army,  had  suggested  as  a  solution 
of  the  turmoil  the  division  of  the  country  into  four 
separate  Confederacies  and  had  roughly  drawn  their 
outlines ! 

123 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Horace  Greeley  had  made  the  Tribune  the  most 
powerful  newspaper  in  the  history  of  America.  The 
Republicans  throughout  the  country  had  been  edu 
cated  by  its  teachings  and  held  its  authority  second 
only  to  the  Word  of  God.  And  yet  from  the  moment 
of  Lincoln's  election  the  chief  occupation  of  this  pow 
erful  paper  was  to  criticize  and  condemn  the  measures 
and  policies  of  the  President. 

Over  and  over  he  repeated  the  deadly  advice  to 
*  the  Nation: 

"If  the  Cotton  States  shall  decide  that  they  can 
do  better  out  of  the  Union  than  in  it,  we  insist  on 
letting  them  go  in  peace." 

He  serenely  insisted: 

"If  eight  Southern  States,  having  five  millions  of 
people,  choose  to  separate  from  us,  they  cannot  be 
permanently  withheld  from  doing  so  by  Federal 
cannon.  The  South  has  as  good  right  to  secede 
from  the  Union  as  the  Colonies  had  to  secede 
from  Great  Britain.  If  they  choose  to  form  an 
independent  Nation  they  have  a  clear  moral  right 
to  do  so,  and  we  will  do  our  best  to  forward  their 
views." 

Is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  Southern  people 

-^  were  absolutely  clear  in  their  conception  of  the  right 

to  secede  if  such  doctrines  were  taught  in  the  North 

by  the  highest  authority  within  the  party  which  had 

elected  Abraham  Lincoln? 

If  his  own  party  leaders  were  boldly  proclaiming 
such  treason  to  the  Union  how  could  he  hope  to  stem 
the  tide  that  had  set  in  for  its  ruin? 

The  thousands  of  conservative  men  North  and  South 
who  voted  for  Bell  and  Everett  demanded  peace  at  any 


JANGLING    VOICES 


price.     An  orator  in  New  York  at  a  great  mass  meet 
ing  dared  to  say: 

"If  a  revolution  of  force  is  to  begin  it  shall  be  in 
augurated  at  home!  It  will  be  just  as  brutal  to  send 
men  to  butcher  our  brothers  of  the  South  as  it  will 
be  to  massacre  them  in  the  Northern  States." 

The  business  interests  of  the  Northern  cities  were 
bitterly  and  unanimously  arrayed  against  any  at 
tempt  to  use  force  against  the  South.  The  city  of 
New  York  was  thoroughly  imbued  with  Secession  sen 
timent,  and  its  Mayor,  through  Daniel  E.  Sickles,  one 
of  the  members  of  Congress,  demanded  the  establish 
ment  of  a  free  and  independent  Municipal  State  on 
the  island  of  Manhattan.  •*"  ^ 

Seward  had  just  written  to  Charles  F.  AdaJfns,  our 
minister  to  England: 

"Only  an  imperial  and  despotic  government  could 
subjugate  thoroughly  disaffected  and  insurrectionary 
members    of    the    State.       This    Federal    Republican 
country  of  ours  is,  of  all  forms   of  Government,  the  •* 
very  one  which  is  the  most  unfitted  for  such  a  labor." 

This  letter  could  only  mean  one  of  two  things,  either 
that  the  first  member  of  the  Cabinet  was  a  Secession 
ist  and  meant  to  allow  the  South  to  go  unmolested, 
or  he  planned  to  change  our  form  of  Government  by 
a  coup  d'etat  in  the  crisis  and  assume  the  Dictator 
ship.  In  either  event  his  attitude  boded  ill  for  the 
new  President  and  his  future. 

Wendell  Phillips,  the  eloquent  friend  of  Senator 
Winter,  declared  in  Boston  in  a  public  address: 

"Here  are  a  series  of  states  who  think  their  peculiar 
institutions  require  that  they  should  have  a  separate 
government.  They  have  the  right  to  decide  that  ques- 

125 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


tion  without  appealing  to  you  or  me.  Standing  with 
the  principles  of  '76  behind  us,  who  can  deny  them 
the  right?  Abraham  Lincoln  has  no  right  to  a  soldier 
in  Fort  Sumter.  There  is  no  longer  a  Union.  You 
can  not  go  through  Massachusetts  and  recruit  men 
to  bombard  Charleston  or  New  Orleans.  Nothing  but 
madness  can  provoke  a  war  with  the  Gulf  States." 

The  last  member  of  his  distracted,  divided,  passion- 
ridden  Cabinet  had  gone  at  the  close  of  its  first  event 
ful  sitting.  The  dark  figure  of  the  President  stood 
beside  the  window  looking  over  the  mirror-like  surface 
of  the  Potomac  to  the  hills  of  Virginia. 

The  shadow  of  a  great  sorrow  shrouded  his  face 
and  form.  The  shoulders  drooped.  But  the  light  in 
the  depths  of  his  sombre  eyes  was  growing  steadily 
in  intensity. 

Old  Edward,  the  veteran  hallman,  appeared  at  the 
door  with  his  endless  effort  to  wash  his  hands  without 
water. 

"A  young  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you,  sir,  a  re 
porter  I  think — Mr.  Ned  Vaughan,  of  the  Daily 
Republican." 

Without  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  Virginia  hills,  the 
quiet  voice  said: 

"Let  him  in." 

In  vain  the  wily  diplomat  of  the  press  sought  to 
obtain  a  declaration  of  policy  on  the  question  of  the 
relief  of  Fort  Sumter.  In  his  easy,  friendly  way  the 
President  made  him  welcome,  but  only  smiled  and  slow 
ly  shook  his  head  in  answer  to  each  pointed  question, 
or  laughed  aloud  at  the  skillful  traps  he  was  invited 
to  enter. 

"It's  no  use,  my  boy,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  weary 

126 


JANGLING    VOICES 


gesture.  "I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  anything  to 
day "  he  paused,  and  the  light  suddenly  flashed 

from  beneath  his  shaggy  brows,  " except  this — 

you  can  say  to  your  readers  that  my  course  is  as 
plain  as  a  turnpike  road.  It  is  marked  out  by  the 
Constitution.  I  am  in  no  doubt  which  way  to  go. 
I  am  going  to  try  to  save  the  Union." 

"In  short,"  Ned  laughed,  "you  propose  to  stand  by 
your  Inaugural?" 

"That's  a  pretty  good  guess,  young  man!  I'm 
surprised  that  you  paid  such  close  attention  to  my 
address." 

"Perhaps  I  had  an  interpreter?" 

"Did  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Who?" 

"A  very  beautiful  young  woman,  Mr.  President," 
Ned  answered  serenely. 

The   hazel-grey  eyes   twinkled: 

"What's  her  name,  sir?" 

"Miss  Betty  Winter." 

"Not  the  daughter  of  that  old  grizzly  bear  who's 
always  camping  on  my  trail?" 

"The   same,   sir." 

The  swarthy  face  lighted  with  a  radiant  smile: 

"What  did  she  say  about  my  Inaugural?" 

"That  it  was  the  utterance  of  a  wise,  patient,  great 
man." 

Two  big  hands  suddenly  closed  on  Ned's  and  the 
tall  figure  bent  low. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me  that,  my  boy.  It  helps 
me  after  a  hard  day!' 

"She  said  many  other  things,  too,  sir,"  Ned  added. 
127 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Did  she?" 
"With  enthusiasm." 

"Tell  her  to  come  to  me,"  the  President  said  slowly. 
"I  want  to  talk  to  her." 

He  paused,   turned  to   his   desk   and   seized   a  pen: 
"I'll  send  a  subpoena  for  her — that's  better." 
On  one  of  his  cards  he  quickly  wrote: 

"Mv  DEAR  Miss  WINTER: 

"You  are  hereby  summoned  to  immediately  appear 
before  the  Chief  Magistrate  to  testify  concerning  grave 
matters  of  State.  A.  LINCOLN." 

He    slipped   his    long   arm    around    Ned's    shoulder 

and  walked  with  him  to  the  door: 

"Serve  that  on  her  for  me,  will  you,  right  away?" 
With  a  nod  and   a  smile,  the  reporter  bowed  and 

turned  his  steps  toward  the  Senator's  house. 


CHAPTER    III 

IN  BETTY'S  GARDEN 

Ned  Vaughan  paused  with  a  moment  of  indecision 
before  the  plain,  old-fashioned,  brick  house  in  which 
Senator  Winter  lived  on  the  Capitol  Hill.  It  was  a 
confession  of  abject  weakness  to  decline  her  invitation 
to  dinner  with  his  brother  and  jump  at  the  first  chance 
to  butt  in  before  the  dinner  hour. 

Why  should  he  worry?  She  was  too  serious  and 
honest  to  play  with  any  man,  to  say  nothing  of  an 
attempt  to  flirt  with  two  at  the  same  time. 

He  refused  to  believe  in  the  seriousness  of  any  im 
pression  she  had  made  on  his  brother's  conceited  fancy. 
His  light  love  affairs  had  become  notorious  in  his  set. 
He  was  only  amusing  himself  with  Betty  and  she  was 
too  simple  and  pure  to  understand.  Yet  to  warn 
her  at  this  stage  of  the  game  against  his  own  brother 
was  obviously  impossible. 

He  suddenly  turned   on  his  heel: 

"I'm  a  fool.     I'll  wait  till  to-morrow !" 

He  walked  rapidly  to  the  corner,  stopped  abruptly, 
turned  back  to  the  door  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Anyhow,  I'm  not  a  coward!"  he  muttered. 

The  pretty  Irish  maid  who  opened  the  door  smiled 
graciously  and  knowingly.  It  made  him  furious.  She 
mistook  his  rage  for  blushes  and  giggled  insinuat 
ingly. 

129 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Miss  Betty's  in  the  garden,  sor;  she  says  to  come 
right  out  there — — " 

"What?"  Ned  gasped. 

"Yiss-sor;  she  saw  you  come  up  to  the  door  just 
now  and  told  me  to  tell  you." 

Again  the  girl  giggled  and  again  he  flushed  with 
rage. 

He  found  her  in  the  garden,  busy  with  her  flowers. 
The  border  of  tall  jonquils  were  in  full  bloom,  a 
gorgeous  yellow  flame  leaping  from  both  sides  of  the 
narrow  walkway  which  circled  the  high  brick  wall 
covered  with  a  mass  of  honeysuckle.  She  held  a  huge 
pair  of  pruning  shears,  clipping  the  honeysuckle  away 
from  the  budding  violet  beds. 

She  lifted  her  laughing  brown  eyes   to  his. 

"Do  help  me!"  she  cried.  "This  honeysuckle  vine 
is  going  to  cover  the  whole  garden  and  smother  the 
house  itself,  I'm  afraid." 

He  took  the  shears  from  her  pink  fingers  and  felt 
the  thrill  of  their  touch  for  just  a  moment. 

His  eyes  lingered  on  the  beautiful  picture  she  made 
with  flushed  face  and  tangled  ringlets  of  golden  brown 
hair  falling  over  forehead  and  cheeks  and  white 
rounded  throat.  The  blue  gingham  apron  was  infin 
itely  more  becoming  than  the  most  elaborate  ball  cos 
tume.  It  suggested  home  and  the  sweet  intimacy  of 
comradeship. 

"You're  lovely  in  that  blue  apron,  Miss  Betty," 
he  said  with  earnestness. 

"Then  I'm  forgiven  for  making  home  folks  of  you?" 

"I'm  very  happy  in  it." 

"Well,  you  see  I  had  no  choice,"  she  hastened  to 
add.  "I  just  had  to  finish  these  flowers  before  dressing 

130 


BETTY'S   GARDEN 


for  dinner.  I'm  expecting  that  handsome  brother  of 
yours  directly  and  I  must  look  my  best  for  him,  now 
mustn't  I?" 

She  smiled  into  his  eyes  with  such  charming  audacity 
he  had  to  laugh. 

"Of  course,  you  must !"  he  agreed,  and  bent  quickly 
to  the  task  of  clearing  her  violet  bed  of  entangled 
vines.  In  ten  minutes  his  strong  hand  had  done  the 
work  of  an  hour  for  her  slender  fingers. 

"How  swiftly  and  beautifully  you  work,  Ned!"  she 
exclaimed  as  he  rose  with  face  flushed  and  gazed  a 
moment  admiringly  on  the  witchery  of  her  exquisite 
figure. 

"How  would  you  like  me  for  a  steady  gardener?" 

"I  hope  you're  not  going  to  lose  your  job  on  your 
brother's  paper?" 

"It's  possible." 

"Why?" 

"We  don't  agree  on  politics." 

"A  reporter  don't  have  to  agree  with  an  editor. 
He  only  obeys  orders." 

"That's  it,"  Ned  answered,  with  a  firm  snap  of  his 
strong  jaw.  "I'm  not  going  to  take  orders  from  this 
Government  many  more  days  from  the  present  out 
look." 

Betty  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye  in  silence  and 
slowly  asked: 

"You're  not  really  going  to  join  the  rebels?" 

The  slender  boyish  figure  suddenly  straightened  and 
his  lips  quivered: 

"Perhaps." 

"You   can't  mean  it!"   she   cried  incredulously. 

"Would  you  care?"  he  asked  slowly. 
131 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Very  much,"  was  the  quick  ^answer.  "I  should  be 
shocked  and  disappointed  in  you.  I've  never  believed 
for  a  moment  that  you  meant  what  you  said.  I 
thought  you  were  only  debating  the  question  from  the 
Southern  side." 

"Tell  me,"  Ned  broke  in,  "does  your  father  mean 
half  he  says  about  Lincoln  and  the  South?" 

"Every  word  he  says.  My  father  is  made  of  the 
stuff  that  kindles  martyr  fires.  He  will  march  to  the 
stake  for  his  principles  when  the  time  comes." 

"You  admire  that  kind  of  man?" 

"Don't  you?" 

"Yes.  And  for  that  reason  I  can't  understand  why 
you  admire  a  trimmer  and  a  time  server." 

"You  mean?" 

"The  Rail-splitter  in  the  White  House." 

"But  he's  not!"  Betty  protested.  "I  can  feel  the 
hand  of  steel  beneath  his  glove — wait  and  see." 

Ned  laughed: 

"Let  Ephraim  alone,  he's  joined  to  his  idols!  As 
our  old  preacher  used  to  say  in  Missouri.  Your 
delusion  is  hopeless.  It's  well  the  President  is  safely 
married." 

Betty's  eyes  twinkled.  Ned  paused,  blushed,  fum 
bled  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  the  card  the  President 
had  given  him  to  deliver. 

"I  am  ordered  by  the  administration,"  he  gravely 
continued,  "to  serve  this  document  on  the  daughter 
of  Senator  Winter." 

Betty's  eyes  danced  with  amazement  as  she  read 
the  message  in  the  handwriting  of  the  Chief  Magis 
trate. 

"He  sent  this  to  me?" 

132 


'Good-bye — Ned!'  she  breathed  softly.  " 


IN   BETTY'S    GARDEN 


"Ordered  me  to  serve  it  on  you  at  once — my  excuse 
for  coming  at  this  unseemly  hour." 

"But  why?" 

"I  gave  him  a  hint  of  your  opinion  of  his  Inaugural. 
I  think  it's  a  case  of  a  drowning  man  grasping  a 
straw." 

"Well,  this  is  splendid !"  she  exclaimed. 

"You  take  it  seriously?" 

"It's  a  great  honor." 

"And  are  you  going?" 

"I'd  go  to-night  if  it  were  possible — to-morrow 
sure " 

She  looked  at  the  card  curiously. 

"I've  a  strange  presentiment  that  something  won 
derful  will  come  of  this  meeting." 

"No  doubt  of  it.  When  Senator  Winter's  daugh 
ter  becomes  the  champion  of  the  'Slave  Hound 
of  Illinois'  there'll  be  a  sensation  in  the  Cap 
ital  gossip  to  say  nothing  of  what  may  happen  at 
home." 

"I'll  risk  what  happens  at  home,  Ned!  My  father 
has  two  great  passions,  the  hatred  of  Slavery  and  the 
love  of  his  frivolous  daughter.  I  can  twist  him 
around  my  little  finger " 

She  paused,  snapped  her  finger  and  smiled  up  into 
his  face  sweetly: 

"Do  you  doubt  it,  sir?" 

"No,"  he  answered  with  a  frown,  dropping  his  voice 
to  low  tender  tones.  "But  would  you  mind  telling  me, 
Miss  Betty,  why  you  called  me  'Mr.  Ned'  the  other 
day  when  I  introduced  you  to  John?" 

The  faintest  tinge  of  red  flashed  in  her  cheeks: 

"I  must  have  done  it  unconsciously." 
133 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Please  don't  do  it  again.  It  hurts.  You've  called 
me  Ned  too  long  to  drop  it  now,  don't  you  think?" 

"Yes." 

Her  eyes  twinkled  with  mischief  as  she  took  his 
hand  in  parting. 

"Good-bye—Ned!"  she  breathed  softly. 

And  then  he  did  a  foolish  thing,  but  the  impulse 
was  resistless.  He  bent  low,  reverently  kissed  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  and  fled  without  daring  to  look  back. 


CHAPTER    IV 

A    PAIR    OF    YOUNG    EYES 

When  Betty's  card  was  sent  in  at  the  White  House 
next  morning,  a  smile  lighted  the  sombre  face  of  the 
President.  He  waved  his  long  arms  impulsively  to 
his  Secretaries  and  the  waiting  crowd  of  Congress 
men: 

"Clear  everybody  out  for  a  few  minutes,  boys ;  I've 
an  appointment  at  this  hour." 

The  tall  figure  bowed  with  courtly  deference  over 
the  little  hand  and  his  voice  was  touched  with  deep 
feeling : 

"I  want  to  thank  you  personally,  Miss  Betty,  for 
your  kind  words  about  my  Inaugural.  They  helped 
and  cheered  me  in  a  trying  moment." 

"I'm  glad,"  was  the  smiling  answer. 

"Tell  me  everything  you  said  about  it?"  he  urged 
laughingly. 

"I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Lincoln  might  not  like  it!"  she 
said  demurely. 

"We'll  risk  it.  I'm  going  to  take  you  in  to  see  her 
in  a  minute.  I  want  her  to  know  you.  Tell  me,  what 
else  did  you  say?" 

He  spoke  with  the  eager  wistfulness  of  a  boy.  It 
was  only  too  plain  that  few  messages  of  good  cheer 
had  come  to  lighten  the  burden  his  responsibilities 
had  brought. 

135 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


A  smile  touched  her  eyes  with  tender  sympathy: 

"You  won't  be  vain  if  I  tell  you  exactly  what  I  said, 
Mr.  President?" 

"After  all  the  brickbats  that  have  been  coming 
my  way?"  he  laughed.  No  man  could  laugh  with 
more  genuine  hearty  enjoyment.  His  laughter 
convulsed  his  whole  being  for  the  moment  and 
fairly  hypnotized  his  hearer  into  sympathy  with  his 
mood. 

"Out  with  it,  Miss  Betty,  I  need  it!"  he  urged. 

"I  said,  Mr.  President,  that  you  were  very  tender 

and  very  strong "  she  paused  and  looked  straight 

into  his  deep  set  eyes  " and  that  a  great  man  had 

appeared  in  our  history." 

He  was  still  for  a  moment  and  a  mist  veiled  the 
light  at  which  she  gazed.  He  took  her  hand  in  both 
his,  pressed  it  gently  and  murmured: 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Betty,  I  shall  try  to  prove  wor 
thy  of  my  little  champion." 

"I  think  you  do  things  without  trying,  Mr.  Presi 
dent,"  she  answered. 

"And  you  don't  want  an  office,  do  you?" 

"No." 

"You  have  no  favors  to  ask  for  your  friends,  have 
you?" 

"None  whatever." 

"And   you're   Senator   Winter's   daughter?" 

"Yes." 

"The  old  grizzly  bear!  He  hates  me — but  I've  al 
ways  liked  him " 

"I  hope  you'll  always  like  him,"  Betty  quickly  broke 
in. 

"Of  course  I  will.     I've  never  cherished  resentments. 

136 


A    PAIR   OF   YOUNG   EYES 

Life's  too  short,  and  the  office  I  fill  is  too  big  for  that. 
Do  you  know  why  I've  sent  for  you?" 

Betty   smiled: 

"To  have  me  flatter  you,  of  course.  All  men 
are  vain.  The  greater  the  man,  the  greater  his 
vanity." 

Again  he  laughed  with  every  muscle  of  his  face  and 
body. 

"Honestly — no,  that's  not  the  reason,"  he  said  con 
fidentially.  "I  want  you  to  accept  a  position  in  my 
Cabinet." 

"I  didn't  know  that  women  were  admitted?" 

"They're  not,  but  I've  always  been  in  favor  of  votes 
for  women  and  I'm  going  to  make  a  place  for  you." 

Betty's  lips  trembled  with  a  smile : 

"What's    the   salary?" 

"No  salary,  save  the  eternal  gratitude  of  your 
Chief — will  you  accept?" 

"I'll  consider  it— what  duty?" 

He  looked  steadily  into  her  brown  eyes: 

"You  have  very  bright,  clear  eyes,  Miss  Betty,  I 
can  see  myself  in  them  now  more  distinctly  than  in 
that  mirror  over  the  mantel.  I'd  like  to  borrow  your 
eyes  now  and  then  to  see  things  with.  Will  you  accept 
the  position?" 

"If  I  can  be   of  service,  yes." 

"The  White  House  is  open  to  you  at  all  hours,  and 
I  shall  send  for  you  sometimes  when  I'm  blue  and 
puzzled  and  want  a  pair  of  pure,  beautiful,  young 
eyes — you  understand?" 

Betty  extended  her  hand   and  her  voice   trembled: 

"You  have  conferred  on  me  a  very  great  honor,  Mr. 
President." 

137 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"For  instance  now,"  he  said  dreamily:  "You  en 
dorse  my  Inaugural?" 

"I'm  sure  it  was  wise,  firm,  friendly,  dignified." 

"I  couldn't  have  said  less  than  that  I  must  possess 
and  hold  the  property  of  the  Government,  could  I? 
Well,  1  must  now  order  a  fleet  to  sail  for  Charleston 
Harbor  to  relieve  our  fort  or  allow  the  men  who  wear 
our  uniform  and  fly  our  flag  to  die  of  starvation  or  sur 
render.  Pretty  poor  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army 
and  Navy  if  I  do  that,  am  I  not?  Suppose  I  send  a 
fleet  to  provision  our  men  in  Fort  Sumter,  not  re 
inforce  it — mind  you,  merely  provisions  for  the  hand 
ful  of  men  who  are  there, — and  suppose  the  Southern 
troops  manning  those  land  batteries  open  fire  on 
our  flag  and  force  Major  Anderson  to  surrender — what 
would  happen  in  the  North?" 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her  steadily.  The  fine 
young  figure  suddenly  stiffened: 

"Every  man,  woman  and  child  would  say  fight!" 

The  big  jaws  came  together  with  firm  precision  and 
his  huge  fist  struck  the  table: 

"That's  what  I  think.  And  at  the  same  time  some 
thing  else  would  be  happening  over  there "  His 

long  arm  swept  toward  the  hills  of  Virginia,  dark  and 
threatening  on  the  horizon.  "The  moment  that  shot 
crashes  against  our  fort,  North  Carolina,  Virginia, 
Arkansas,  and  Tennessee  will  join  the  Confederacy,  to 
say  nothing  of  what  may  happen  in  Maryland,  Dela 
ware,  Kentucky  and  Missouri — all  Slave  States.  The 
shock  will  be  felt  on  both  sides  with  precisely  opposite 
effects.  Sometimes  we  must  do  our  duty  and  leave 
the  rest  to  God,  mustn't  we?  Yes — of  course  we 
must — and  now,  I've  kept  3rou  too  long,  Miss  Betty. 

138 


A    PAIR    OF    YOUNG   EYES 

It's  a  bargain,  isn't  it?  You  accept  the  position  in 
my  Cabinet?" 

"Of  course,  Mr.  President, — but  if  my  duties  are 
no  heavier  than  I  find  them  on  this  occasion,  I  fear 
I  shall  be  of  little  help." 

"You've  been  of  the  greatest  service  to  me.  You've 
confirmed  my  decision  on  a  great  problem  of  State. 
Come  now  and  see  Mother  and  the  children.  I  want 
you  to  know  them  and  like  them." 

He  led  her  quickly  into  the  family  apartment  and 
introduced  her  to  Mrs.  Lincoln.  He  found  her  in  the 
midst  of  a  grave  discussion  with  Lizzie  Garland,  her 
colored  dressmaker. 

"This  is  old  Grizzly's  lovely  daughter,  Miss  Betty 
Winter,  Mother.  She  has  joined  the  administration, 
stands  squarely  with  us  against  the  world,  the  flesh, 
the  devil — and  her  father !  I  told  her  you'd  give  her 
the  keys  to  the  house " 

With  a  wave  of  his  big  hand  he  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Lincoln's  greeting  was  simple  and  hearty.  In 
half  an  hour  Betty  had  found  a  place  in  her  heart  for 
life,  the  boys  were  claiming  her  as  their  own,  and  a 
train  of  influences  were  set  in  motion  destined  to 
make  history. 


CHAPTER    V 

THE    FIRST    SHOT 

The  first  month  of  the  new  administration  passed 
in  a  strange  peace  that  proved  to  be  the  calm  before 
the  storm.  On  the  first  day  of  April,  All  Fool's  Day, 
Mr.  Seward  decided  to  bring  to  a  definite  issue  the 
question  of  supreme  authority  in  the  government.  That 
Abraham  Lincoln  was  the  nominal  President  was  true, 
of  course.  Mr.  Seward  generously  decided  to  allow 
him  to  remain  nominally  at  the  head  of  the  Nation 
and  assume  himself  the  full  responsibilities  of  a  Dic 
tatorship. 

The  Secretary  of  State  strolled  leisurely  into  the 
executive  office  more  careless  in  dress  than  usual,  the 
knot  of  his  cravat  under  his  left  ear,  a  huge  lighted 
cigar  in  his  hand.  He  handed  the  President  a  folded 
sheet  of  official  paper,  bowed  carelessly  and  retired. 

He  had  drawn  up  his  proclamation  under  the  title: 

SOME    THOUGHTS    FOR    THE    PRESIDENT'S    CONSIDERATION. 

*  In  this  remarkable  document  he  proposed  to  assume 
the  Dictatorship  and  outlined  his  policy  as  director 
of  the  Nation's  affairs. 

f  He  would  immediately  provoke  war  with  Great  Brit 
ain,  Russia,  Spain  and  France ! 

The   dark-visaged   giant   adjusted   his   glasses    and 
140 


THE   FIRST  SHOT 


read  this  paper  with  a  smile  of  incredulous  amazement.  ,, 
He  wiped  his  glasses  and  read  it  again.  And  then 
without  consultation  with  a  single  human  being,  and 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  wrote  a  brief  reply 
to  the  great  man  and  his  generous  offer.  There  was 
no  bluster,  no  wrath,  no  demand  for  an  apology  to 
his  insulted  dignity,  but  in  the  simplest  and  friendliest 
and  most  direct  language  he  informed  his  Secretary 
that  if  a  dictator  were  needed  to  save  the  country  he  •? 
would  undertake  the  dangerous  and  difficult  job  himself 
inasmuch  as  he  had  been  called  by  the  people  to  be 
their  Commander-in-Chief,  and  that  he  expected  the 
cooperation,  advice  and  support  of  all  the  members 
of  his  Cabinet. 

He  did  not  even  refer  to  the  wild  scheme  of  plunging 
the  country  into  war  with  two-thirds  of  the  civilized 
world.  The  bare  announcement  of  such  a  suggestion 
would  have  driven  the  Secretary  from  public  life.  The 
quiet  man  who  presided  over  the  turbulent  Cabinet 
never  hinted  to  one  of  its  members  that  such  a  docu 
ment  had  reached  his  hands. 

But  as  the  shades  of  night  fell  over  the  Capitol 
on  that  first  day  of  April,  1861,  there  was  one  dis 
tinguished  statesman  within  the  city  who  knew  that 
a  real  man  had  been  elected  President  and  that  he 
was  going  to  wield  the  power  placed  in  his  hands 
without  a  tremor  of  fear  or  an  instant's  hesitation. 

It   took   many   months    for   other   members    of  his 
Cabinet  to  learn  this — but  there  was  no  more  trouble 
with  his  Secretary  of  State..    He  became  at  once  his  7 
loyal,   earnest   and   faithful   counsellor. 

On  April  the  6th,  the  fleet  was  sent  to  sea  under 
sealed  orders  to  relieve  Fort  Sumter  in  the  harbor 

141 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


of  Charleston,  South  Carolina.  The  President  had 
been  loath  to  commit  the  act  which  must  inevitably 
provoke  war — unless  the  whole  movement  of  Seces 
sion  in  the  South  was  one  of  political  bluff.  The  high 
est  military  authority  of  the  country  had  advised  him 
that  the  fort  could  not  be  held  by  any  force  at  present 
visible,  and  that  its  evacuation  was  inevitable  in  any 
event. 

His  Cabinet,  with  two  exceptions,  were  against  any 
attempt  to  relieve  it.  The  sentiment  of  the  people 
of  the  North  was  bitterly  opposed  to  war  on  the 
South. 

On  April  the  7th,  the  fleet  was  at  sea  on  its  way 
to  the  Southern  coast,  its  guns  shotted,  its  great  bat 
tle  flags  streaming  in  the  wind. 

In  accordance  with  the  amenities  of  war  the  Presi 
dent  notified  General  Beauregard,  Commander  of  the 
Southern  forces  in  Charleston  Harbor,  that  he  had 
sent  his  fleet  to  put  provisions  into  Sumter,  but  not 
at  present  to  put  in  men,  arms  or  ammunition,  unless 
the  fort  should  be  attacked. 

On  the  night  this  message  was  dispatched  Roger 
A.  Pryor,  of  Virginia,  made  a  speech  in  Charleston, 
from  the  balcony  of  the  Mills  Hotel  to  practically  the 
entire  white  population  of  the  city.  Its  message  was 
fierce,  direct,  electric.  It  was  summed  up  in  a  single 
sentence : 

"Strike  the  first  armed  blow  in  defense  of  Southern 
rights  and  within  one  hour  by  Shrewsbury  clock,  old 
Virginia  will  stand,  her  battle  flags  flying,  by  your 
side!" 

On  the  morning  of  the  llth  General  Beauregard 
sent  Pryor  as  a  special  messenger  to  Major  Anderson 


THE   FIRST   SHOT 


demanding  the  surrender  of  Fort  Sumter,  and  on  his 
refusal,  which  was  a  matter  of  course,  instructed  him 
to  go  at  once  to  the  nearest  battery  and  order  its 
Commander  to  open  fire. 

The  formalities  at  Sumter  quickly  ended,  Pryor  re 
paired  to  Battery  Johnson,  met  the  young  Captain  of 
artillery  in  command  and  presented  his  order. 

With  a  shout  the  Captain  threw  his  arms  around 
the  messenger  and  with  streaming  eyes  cried: 

"Your  wonderful  speech  last  night  made  this  glor 
ious  thing  possible!  You  shall  have  the  immortal 
honor  of  firing  the  first  gun!" 

And  then  a  strange  revulsion  of  feeling — or  was 
it  a  flash  of  foreboding  from  the  hell-lit,  battle- 
scorched  future!  The  orator  hesitated  and  turned 
pale.  It  was  an  honor  he  could  not  now  decline  and 
yet  he  instinctively  shrank  from  it. 

He  mopped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow  and 
looked  about  in  a  helpless  way.  His  eye  suddenly 
rested  on  a  grey-haired,  stalwart  sentinel  passing  with 
quick  firm  tread.  He  recognized  him  immediately  as 
a  distinguished  fellow  Virginian,  a  man  of  large  wealth 
and  uncompromising  opinions  on  Southern  rights. 

When  Virginia  had  refused  to  secede,  he  cursed 
his  countrymen  as  a  set  of  hesitating  cowards,  left 
the  State  and  moved  to  South  Carolina.  He  had  vol 
unteered  among  the  first  and  carried  a  musket  as  a 
private  soldier  in  spite  of  his  snow-white  hairs. 

Pryor  turned  to  the  Commandant: 

"I  appreciate,  sir,  the  honor  you  would  do  me, 
but  I  could  not  think  of  taking  it  from  one  more 
worthy  than  myself.  There  is  the  man  whose  devo 
tion  to  our  cause  is  greater  than  mine." 

143 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


He  introduced  Edmund  Ruffin  and  gave  a  brief  out 
line  of  his  career.  The  boyish  Commandant  faced  him : 

"Will  you  accept  the  honor  of  firing  the  first  shot, 
sir?" 

The  square  jaw  closed  with  a  snap: 

"By   God,   I   will!" 

The  old  man  seized  the  lanyard  and  waited  for  the 
Captain  and  messenger  to  reach  the  front  to  witness 
the  effect  of  the  shot. 

They  had  scarcely  cleared  the  enclosure  when  the 
first  gun  of  actual  civil  war  thundered  its  fateful 
message  across  the  still  waters  of  the  beautiful  South 
ern  harbor. 

They  watched  the  great  screaming  shell  rise  into 
the  sky,  curve  downward  and  burst  with  sullen  roar 
squarely  over  the  doomed  fort. 

The   deed   was   done! 

Instantly  came  the  answering  cry  of  fierce,  ungov 
ernable  wrath  from  the  millions  of  the  North.  The 
four  remaining  Southern  States  wheeled  into  line,  flung 
their  battle  flags  into  the  sky,  and  the  bloodiest  war 
in  the  history  of  the  world  had  begun. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE    PARTING    OF    THE    WAYS 

The  wave  of  fiery  enthusiasm  for  the  Union  which 
swept  the  North  was  precisely  what  the  clear  eyes  of 
the  President  had  foreseen.  A  half  million  men  would 
have  sprung  to  their  arms  if  there  had  been  any  to 
spring  to.  The  whole  country,  North,  South,  East  A 
and  West  was  utterly  unprepared  for  war.  The  regu 
lar  army  of  the  United  States  consisted  of  only  sixteen 
thousand  men  scattered  over  a  vast  territory. 

The  President  called  for  seventy-five  thousand  vol 
unteer  militiamen  for  three  months'  service  to  restore 
order  in  the  Southern  States.  Even  this  number  was 
more  than  the  War  Department  could  equip  before 
their  terms  would  expire  and  the  President  had  no  au 
thority  to  call  State  troops  for  a  longer  service. 

On  the  day  following  the  call,  Massachusetts  started 
three  fully  equipped  regiments  to  the  front.  The  first 
reached  Baltimore  on  the  19th.  On  their  march 
through  the  streets  to  change  cars  for  Washington, 
they  were  attacked  by  a  fierce  mob  and  the  first  battle 
of  the  Civil  War  was  fought.  The  regiment  lost  four 
killed  and  thirty-six  wounded  and  the  mob,  twelve 
killed  and  a  great  number  wounded.  Grimed  with  blood 
and  dirt  the  troops  reached  Washington  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  the  first  armed  rescuers  of  the  Capi- 

145 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


tal.  They  were  quartered  in  the  magnificent  Senate 
Chamber  on  the  Capitol  Hill. 

The  President  was  immediately  confronted  by  the 
gravest  crisis.  The  first  blood  had  stained  the  soil 
of  the  only  Slave  State,  which  lay  between  Washing 
ton  and  the  loyal  North.  If  Maryland  should  join 
the  Confederacy  it  would  be  impossible  to  hold  the 
Capital.  The  city  would  be  surrounded  and  isolated 
in  hostile  territory. 

From  the  first  he  had  believed  that  the  only  con 
ceivable  way  to  save  the  Union  was  to  prevent  the 
Border  Slave  States  of  Maryland,  Kentucky  and  Mis 
souri  from  joining  the  South.  For  the  moment  it 
seemed  that  Maryland  was  lost,  and  with  it  the  Capi 
tal  of  the  Nation.  A  storm  of  fury  swept  through 
the  city  of  Baltimore  and  the  whole  State  over  the 
killing  of  her  unarmed  citizens  by  the  "Abolition" 
troops  from  Massachusetts! 

The  Mayor  of  Baltimore  sent  a  committee  to  the 
President  who  declared  in  the  most  solemn  tones : 

"It  is  not  possible  for  more  soldiers  to  pass  through 
Baltimore  unless  they  fight  their  way  at  every  step." 

And  to  make  sure  that  the  attempt  would  not  be 
repeated  he  burned  the  railroad  bridges  connecting 
the  North  and  cut  every  telegraph  wire  completely 
isolating  the  Capital. 

Gilbert  Winter,  with  his  cold  blue  eyes  flashing  their 
slumbering  fires  of  hate,  stalked  into  the  White  House 
as  the  Baltimore  committee  were  passing  down  the 
steps.  Without  announcement  he  confronted  the 
President. 

"In  the  name  of  the  outraged  dignity  of  this  Re 
public,"  he  thundered,  "I  demand  that  these  traitors 

146 


THE   PARTING   OF   THE    WAYS 

be  arrested,  tried  by  drumhead  court-martial  and 
hanged  as  spies !" 

The  patient  giant  figure  lifted  a  big  hand  in  a  ges*- 
ture  of  mild  protest: 

"Hardly,    Senator!" 

"And  what  was  your  answer?" 

"I  have  written  the  Governor  and  the  Mayor,"  the 
quiet  voice  went  on,  "that  for  the  future  troops  must 
be  brought  here,  but  I  make  no  point  of  bringing 
them  through  Baltimore " 

"Indeed!"   Winter   sneered. 

"All  I  want  is  to  get  them  here.  I  have  ordered 
them  to  march  around  Baltimore.  And  in  fulfilment 
of  this  promise  I've  sent  a  regiment  back  to  Phila 
delphia  to  come  by  water " 

"Great  God — could  cowardice  sink  to  baser  crawl- 
ing!" 

The  tall  man  merely  smiled — his  furious  visitor 
starting  for  the  door,  turned  and  growled: 

"It  is  absolutely  useless  to  discuss  this  question 
further?" 

"Absolutely,   Senator." 

"And  you  will  not  order  our  regular  troops  to  take 
Baltimore  immediately  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet?" 

"I  will  not." 

"Good  day,  sir!" 

"Good  day,  Senator." 

With  a  muttered  explosion  of  wrath  Gilbert  Winter 
shook  the  dust  of  the  White  House  floor  from  his 
feet  and  solemnly  promised  God  it  would  be  many 
moons  before  he  degraded  himself  by  again  entering 
its  portals. 

The  President  had  need  of  all  his  patience  and  cau- 
147 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


tion  in  dealing  with  Maryland.  The  next  protest  de 
manded  that  troops  should  not  pass  by  way  of  An 
napolis  or  over  any  other  spot  of  the  soil  of  the 
State. 

He  calmly  but  firmly  replied: 

"My  troops  must  reach  Washington.  They  can 
neither  fly  over  the  State  of  Maryland  nor  burrow 
under  it:  therefore,  they  must  cross  it,  and  your 
people  must  learn  that  there  is  no  piece  of  American 
soil  too  good  to  be  pressed  by  the  foot  of  a  loyal 
soldier  on  his  march  to  the  defense  of  the  Capital 
and  his  country." 

During  these  anxious  days  while  the  fate  of  Mary 
land  hung  in  the  balance  the  Government  was  given 
a  startling  revelation  of  what  it  would  mean  to  have 
Maryland  hostile  territory. 

For  a  week  the  President  and  his  Cabinet  were  in 
a  state  of  siege.  They  got  no  news.  They  could 
send  none  save  by  courier.  The  maddest  rumors  were 
daily  afloat.  The  President  was  supposed  to  be  gov 
erning  a  country  from  which  he  was  completely  iso 
lated. 

The  tension  at  last  became  unbearable.  The  giant 
figure  stood  for  hours  alone  before  his  window  in 
the  White  House,  his  sombre  hazel-grey  eyes  fixed 
on  the  hills  beyond  the  Potomac.  When  the  silence 
could  no  longer  be  endured  the  anguish  of  his  heart 
broke  forth  in  impassioned  protest: 

"Great  God!  Why  don't  they  come?  Why  don't 
they  come!  Is  our  Nation  a  myth?  Is  there  no 
North?" 

And  then  the  tide  turned  and  the  troops  poured 
into  the  city. 

148 


THE   PARTING   OF   THE    WAYS 

His  patient,  careful  and  friendly  treatment  of  the 
Marylanders  quickly  proved  its  wisdom.  A  reaction 
in  favor  of  the  Union  set  in  and  the  State  remained 
loyal  to  the  flag.  The  importance  of  this  fact  could 
not  be  exaggerated.  Without  Maryland,  Washington 
could  not  have  been  held.  And  the  moment  the  Capi 
tal  should  fall  Europe  would  recognize  the  Confed-  » 
eracy. 

The  saving  of  Maryland  for  the  Union,  in  fact,  es 
tablished  Washington  as  the  real  seat  of  Government, 
though  it  was  destined   to   remain   for  years   but  an  ? 
armed  fortress  on  the  frontiers  of  a  new  Nation. 

The  stirring  events  at  Sumter  and  Baltimore  brought 
more  than  one  family  to  the  grief  and  horror  of 
brother  against  brother  and  father  against  son. 

John  Vaughan  stood  in  his  room  livid  with  rage 
confronting  Ned  on  the  first  day  that  communica 
tion  was  opened  with  the  outside  world. 

"You  are  not  going  to  do  this  insane  thing  I  tell 
you,  Ned!" 

The  boyish  figure  stiffened: 

"I  am  going  home  to  Missouri  on  the  first  train  out  * 
of  Washington,   raise    a   company   and   fight    for   the 
South." 

The  older  man's  voice  dropped  to  persuasive  tones: 

"Isn't  there  something  bigger  than  fighting  for  a 
section  ?  Let's  stand  by  the  Nation !" 

"That's  just  what  I  refuse  to  do.  The  United 
States  have  never  been  a  Nation.  This  country  is  * 
a  Republic  of  Republics — not  an  Empire.  The  South 
is  going  to  fight  for  the  right  of  local  self-government 
and  the  liberties  our  fathers  won  from  the  tyrants  of 
the  old  world.  The  South  is  right  eternally  and  for- 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


ever  right.  The  States  of  this  Union  have  always  been 
sovereign." 

"All  right — all  right,"  John  growled  impatiently, 
"granted,  my  boy.  Still  Secession  is  impossible.  A 
Nation  can't  jump  out  of  its  own  skin  once  it  has 
grown  it.  This  country  has  become  a  Nation.  Steam 
and  electricity  have  made  it  so.  Railroads  have 
bound  us  together  in  iron  bands.  Can't  you  see  that?" 

"No,  I  can't.     Right  is  right." 

"But  if  we  have  actually  grown  into  a  mighty  united 
people  with  one  tongue  and  one  ideal  is  it  right  to 
draw  the  sword  to  destroy  what  God  has  joined 
together?  Silently,  swiftly,  surely  during  the  past 
thirty  years  we  have  become  one  people  and  the  love 
of  the  Union  has  become  a  deathless  passion " 

"You've  had  a  poor  way  of  showing  it !"  Ned 
sneered. 

"Still,  boy,  it's  true.  I  didn't  realize  it  myself 
until  that  fort  was  fired  on  and  the  flag  hauled  down. 
And  then  it  came  to  me  in  a  blinding  flash.  Old 
Webster's  voice  has  been  hushed  in  death,  but  his 
soul  lives  in  the  hearts  of  our  boys.  There's  hardly 
one  of  us  who  hasn't  repeated  at  school  his  immortal 
words.  They  came  back  to  me  with  thrilling  power 
the  day  I  read  of  that  shot.  They  are  ringing  in 
my  soul  to-day " 

John  paused  and  a  rapt  look  crept  into  his  eyes, 
as  he  began  slowly  to  repeat  the  closing  words  of 
Webster's  speech: 

"  'When  mine  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold  for  the 
last  time  the  sun  in  heaven,  may  I  not  see  him  shining 
on  the  broken  and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once 
glorious  Union;  on  States  dissevered,  discordant,  be- 

150 


THE   PARTING   OF   THE    WAYS 

ligerent;  or  a  land  rent  with  civil  feuds,  or  drenched, 
it  may  be,  with  fratricidal  blood!  Let  their  last  fee 
ble  and  lingering  glance  rather  behold  the  gracious 
ensign  of  the  Republic,  now  known  and  honored 
throughout  the  earth,  still  full  high  advanced,  its 
arms  and  trophies  streaming  in  their  original  lustre, 
not  a  stripe  erased  or  polluted,  not  a  single  star  ob 
scured,  bearing  for  its  motto  no  such  miserable  in 
terrogatory  as  "What  is  all  this  worth?"  nor  those 
other  words  of  delusion  and  folly,  "Liberty  first  and 
Union  afterward,"  but  everywhere,  spread  all  over 
with  living  light,  blazing  in  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they 
float  over  the  sea  and  over  the  land  and  in  every  wind 
under  the  whole  heavens,  that  other  sentiment  dear  to 
every  American  heart — "Liberty  and  Union,  now  and 
forever,  one  and  inseparable " 

He  paused,  his  voice  choking  with  emotion,  as  he 
seized  Ned's  arm: 

"O,  Boy,  Boy,  isn't  that  a  greater  ideal?  That's 
all  the  President  is  asking  to-day — to  stand  by  the 
Union " 

"He  is  making  war  on  the   South!" 

"But  only  as  the  South  is  forcing  him  reluctantly 
to  defend  the  Union  by  force.  The  South  is  mad. 
She  will  come  to  her  senses  after  the  shock  of  the 
first  skirmish  is  over.  With  the  Southern  members 
in  their  places,  they  have  a  majority  in  Congress 
against  the  President.  He  can  move  neither  hand 
nor  foot.  What  has  the  South  to  gain  by  Secession? 
They  always  controlled  the  Union  and  can  continue 
to  do  so  if  they  stand  united  with  their  Northern 
friends.  In  the  end  their  defeat  is  as  sure  as  that 
twenty  millions  of  free  white  Americans  can  whip  five 

151 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


millions  of  equal  courage  and  daring.  They  have 
everything  to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain.  It's  mad 
ness — it  surpasses  belief!" 

"That's  why  I'm  going  to  fight  for  them!"  Ned's 
answer  flashed.  "They  stand  for  a  principle — their 
*"  equal  rights  under  the  Republic  their  fathers  created. 
They  haven't  paused  to  figure  on  success  or  failure. 
Five  million  freemen  have  drawn  the  sword  against 
twenty  millions  because  their  rights  have  been  in 
vaded.  Might  has  never  yet  made  right.  The  South' s 
daring  is  sublime  and,  by  God,  I  stand  with  them!" 

His  words  had  the  ring  of  steel  in  their  finality. 
The  two  men  faced  each  other  for  a  moment,  tense, 
earnest,  defiant. 

The  younger  extended  his  hand: 

"Good-bye,  John." 

The  handsome  face  of  the  older  brother  went  sud 
denly  white  and  he  shook  his  head: 

"No.  From  to-day  we  are  no  longer  brothers — we 
can't  be  friends !" 

Ned  smiled,  waved  his  hand  and  from  the  door 
firmly  answered : 

"As  you  like — from  to-day — foes " 

He  closed  the  door  and  with  swift  step  turned  his 
face  toward  the  house  of  Senator  Winter. 


CHAPTER    VII 

LOVE    AND    DUTY 

The  pretty  Irish  maid  nodded  and  smiled  with  such 
a  sympathetic  look  as  she  ushered  Ned  into  the  cosy 
back  parlor,  he  wondered  if  it  meant  anything.  Could 
she  have  guessed  Betty's  secret?  She  might  give  him 
a  hint  that  would  lift  the  fear  from  his  heart. 

He  smiled  back  into  her  laughing  eyes  and  began 
awkwardly : 

"Oh,  I  say,  Peggy " 

She  dropped  a  pretty   courtesy: 

"Yiss-sor?" 

Somehow  it  wouldn't  work.  The  words  refused  to 
come.  Love  was  too  big  and  sweet  and  sacred.  It 
couldn't  be  hinted  at  to  a  third  person.  And  so  he 
merely  stammered: 

"Will  you— er— please — tell  Miss  Betty  I'm  here?" 

"Yiss-sor !"  Peggy  giggled. 

He  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  her.  He  drew  his  hand 
kerchief,  mopped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow  and 
sat  down  by  the  open  window  to  wait.  His  heart  was 
pounding.  He  looked  about  the  room  with  vague 
longing.  He  had  spent  many  a  swift  hour  of  pain 
and  joy  in  this  room.  The  sight  and  sound  of  her 
had  grown  into  his  very  life — he  couldn't  realize 
how  intimately  and  how  hopelessly  until  this  moment 
of  parting  perhaps  forever. 

153 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  portrait  of  her  mother  hung  over  the  mantel — a 
life-size  oil  painting  by  a  noted  French  artist,  the  same 
brilliant  laughing  eyes,  the  same  deep  golden  brown 
hair,  its  wayward  ringlets  playing  loosely  about  her 
fine  forehead  and  shell-like  ears. 

Beyond  a  doubt  this  pretty  mother  with  the 
sunshine  of  France  in  her  blood  had  known  how 
to  flirt  in  her  day — and  her  beautiful  daughter 
was  enough  like  that  picture  to  have  been  her  twin 
sister. 

On  the  mantel  beneath  this  portrait  sat  photo 
graphs  in  solid  silver  frames,  one  of  Wendell  Phillips, 
one  of  William  Lloyd  Garrison  and  one  of  John  C. 
Fremont,  the  first  Republican  candidate  for  Presi 
dent.  Directly  opposite  on  the  wall  hung  an  oil  paint 
ing  of  John  Brown.  Ned  caught  the  flash  of  the 
fanatic  in  the  old  madman's  eye  and  was  startled  at 
the  striking  resemblance  to  Senator  Winter.  He  had 
never  thought  of  it  before.  Gilbert  Winter  might  have 
been  his  brother  in  the  flesh  as  he  undoubtedly  was  in 
spirit. 

The  thought  chilled.  He  looked  out  the  window 
with  a  sigh  and  wondered  how  far  the  old  tyrant 
would  carry  his  hatred  of  the  South  into  his  daugh 
ter's  life.  His  eye  rested  for  a  moment  on  the  row 
of  lilacs  in  full  bloom  in  the  garden  and  caught  the 
flash  of  the  big  new  leaves  of  the  magnolia  which 
shadowed  the  rear  wall.  The  early  honeysuckle  had 
begun  to  blossom  on  the  south  side,  and  the  violet 
beds  were  a  solid  mass  of  gorgeous  blue.  Through  the 
open  window  came  the  rich  odor  of  the  long  rows 
of  narcissus  in  full  white  glory  where  the  jonquils 
had  flamed  a  month  ago. 

154 


LOVE  AND   DUTY 


What  a  beautiful  world  to  be  beaten  into  a  scarred 
battlefield! 

For  just  a  moment  the  thought  wrung  the  heart 
of  youth  and  love.  It  was  hard  just  when  the  ten- 
derest  and  sweetest  impulses  that  ever  filled  his  soul 
were  clamoring  for  speech,  to  turn  his  back  on  all, 
say  good-bye  and  go — to  war — perhaps  to  kill  his 
own  brother. 

And  there  could  be  no  mistake,  war  had  come. 
Overhead  he  caught  the  steady  tramp  of  Sen 
ator  Winter's  feet,  a  caged  lion  walking  back  and 
forth  with  hungry  eyes  turned  toward  the  South. 
He  could  feel  his  deadly  hostility  through  the  very 
walls. 

A  battery  of  artillery  suddenly  roared  through  the 
streets,  the  dull  heavy  rattle  of  its  wheels  over  the 
cobblestones,  and  the  crack  of  the  driver's  whip  echo 
ing  and  reechoing  through  the  house.  Behind  it  came 
the  steady  tramp,  tramp,  of  a  regiment  of  infantry, 
the  loud  call  of  their  volunteer  officers  ringing  sharply 
their  orders  at  the  turn  of  the  street.  Far  off  on 
the  Capitol  Hill  he  heard  the  sharp  note  of  a  bugle 
and  the  rattle  of  horses'  hoofs.  Every  hour  the  raw 
troops  were  pouring  into  the  city  from  the  North, 
the  East  and  the  West. 

He  wondered  with  a  strange  catch  in  his  throat 
what  difference  this  was  going  to  make  between  him 
and  the  girl  he  loved.  There  was  no  longer  any 
question  about  the  love.  He  marvelled  that  he  had 
been  too  stupid  to  realize  it  and  speak  before  this 
shadow  had  fallen  between  them.  She  knew  that  his 
sympathies  were  with  the  South  and  he  knew  with 
equal  certainty  she  had  never  believed  that  he  would 

155 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


fight  to  destroy  the  Union  when  the  test  should  come. 
He  dreaded  the  shock  when  he  must  tell  her. 

His  heart  grew  sick  with  fear.  What  chance  had 
he  with  everything  against  him — her  old,  fanatical 
father  who  loved  her  with  the  tender  devotion  of 
his  strong  manhood — her  own  blind  admiration  for 
the  new  President,  whose  coming  had  brought  war — 
and  worst  of  all  he  must  go  and  leave  John  by  her 
side !  His  brother  had  given  no  hint  of  his  real  feel 
ings,  but  his  deeds  had  been  more  eloquent  than 
words.  He  had  seen  Betty  every  week  since  the  day 
they  had  met — sometimes  twice.  This  he  knew.  There 
may  have  been  times  he  didn't  know. 

All  the  more  reason  why  he  must  put  the  thing 
to  the  test.  Besides  he  must  speak.  His  hour  had 
struck.  His  country  was  calling,  and  he  must  go 
— to  meet  Death  or  Glory.  The  woman  he  loved  must 
know. 

He  heard  the  soft  rustle  of  her  dress  on  the  stairs 
and  sprang  to  his  feet.  She  paused  in  the  doorway 
a  vision  of  ravishing  beauty  in  full  evening  dress,  her 
bare  arms  and  exquisite  neck  and  throat  gleaming  in 
the  shadows. 

She  smiled  graciously,  her  brown  eyes  sparkling 
with  the  conscious  power  which  youth  and  beauty  can 
never  conceal. 

She  held  out  her  soft  warm  hand  and  his  trembling 
cold  fingers  grasped  it. 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  kept  you,  Ned,"  she  began  softly, 
"but  I  was  dressing  for  the  reception  at  the  White 
House.  I  promised  Mrs.  Lincoln  to  help  her." 

"I  didn't  mind  the  wait,  Miss  Betty,"  he  answered 
soberly.  "Come  into  the  garden — J  can  talk  better 

156 


LOVE   AND   DUTY 


there  among  your  flowers — I  never  mind  waiting  for 
you." 

"Why?" 

"I've  time   to   dream." 

"Before  you  must  wake?"  she  laughed. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  so  this  time " 

"Why  so  serious — what's  the  matter?" 

"I'm  going  to  the  front." 

"So  are  thousands  of  brave  men,  Ned.  I've  always 
known  you'd  go  when  the  test  came." 

He  bit  his  lips  and  was  silent.  It  was  hard,  but 
he  had  to  say  it: 

"I  am  going  to  fight  for  the  South,  Miss  Betty." 

The  silence  was  painful.  She  looked  steadily  into 
his  dark  earnest  eyes.  There  was  something  too  big 
and  fine  in  them  to  be  met  with  anger  or  reproach. 
He  was  deadly  pale  and  waited  breathlessly  for  her  to 
speak. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  breathed  softly. 

"You  know  that  it  costs  me  something  to  say  this 
to  you,"  he  stammered. 

"Yes,  I  know " 

"But  it  must  be.  It's  a  question  of  principle — a 
question  that  cuts  to  the  bone  of  a  fellow's  life  and 
character.  A  man  must  be  true  to  what  he  believes 
to  be  right,  mustn't  he?" 

His  voice  was  tender,  wistful,  pleading.  The  sweet, 
young  face  upturned  to  his  caught  his  mood: 

"Yes,  Ned." 

"I  couldn't  be  a  real  man  and  do  less,  could  I?" 

"No — but  I'm  sorry" — she  paused  and  suddenly 
asked,  "Your  brother  agrees  with  you  ?" 

Ned  frowned:     "Why  do  you  ask  that  question?" 
157 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Because  I  was  sure  that  he  was  on  our  side " 

"Is  that  all?" 

"And  I've  always  supposed  he  was  a  sort  of  guar 
dian " 

"Only  because  he  has  always  been  my  big  brother 
and  I've  loved  and  admired  him  very  much.  I  cried 
my  eyes  out  the  day  he  left  home  out  in  Missouri  and 
came  East  to  college." 

"And  you're  going  to  fight  him?" 

"It's  possible." 

"It's  horrible!" 

"And  yet,  men  who  are  not  savages  could  only  do 
such  things  drawn  by  the  mightiest  forces  that  move 
a  human  soul — you  must  know  that,  Miss  Betty." 

"Yes." 
\      "There's  only  one  thing  in  life  that's  bigger " 

"And  that?" 

"Is  love.  I've  held  it  too  high  and  holy  a  word 
to  speak  lightly.  I  shall  tell  but  one  woman  that  I 
love  her " 

She  looked  at  him  tenderly: 

"You  glorious,  foolish  boy !" 

Pale  and  trembling  he  took  her  hand,  led  her  to  a 
seat  and  sank  on  his  knees  by  her  side  . 

"I  love  you,  Betty !"  he  gasped.  "I've  loved  you 
from  the  moment  we  met,  tenderly,  madly,  reverently. 
I've  been  afraid  to  touch  your  hand  lately  lest  you 
feel  the  pounding  of  my  heart  and  know.  And  now 
it's  come — this  hour  when  I  must  say  I  love  you  and 
good-bye  in  the  same  breath !  Be  gentle  and  sweet  to 
me.  I'm  afraid  to  ask  if  you  love  me.  It's  too  good 
to  be  true.  I'm  not  worthy  to  even  touch  your  little 

hand — and  yet  I'm  daring  to  hold  it  in  mine " 

158 


LOVE   AND   DUTY 


He  paused  and  bowed  his  head,  overcome  with  emo 
tion. 

Betty  gently  pressed  his  trembling  fingers.  Her 
voice  was  low. 

"I'm  proud  of  your  love,  Ned.  It's  very  beauti 
ful " 

"But  you  don't  love  me?"  he  groaned. 

"Not  as  you  love  me." 

He  looked  searchingly  and  hungrily  into  her  brown 
eyes: 

"Is  it  John?" 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  and  thoughtfully: 

"No." 

"And  it's  no  one  else?" 

"No." 

"Then  I  won't  take  that  answer!"  he  cried  with 
desperate  earnestness.  "I'm  going  to  win  you.  I'll 
love  you  with  a  love  so  big  and  true  I'll  make  you 
love  me.  Everything's  against  me  now.  Your  father's 
against  me.  I'm  going  to  fight  your  country  and  your 
people.  You  admire  the  new  President.  I  despise  him. 
The  passions  of  war  have  separated  us,  that's  all. 
But  I  won't  give  up.  The  war  can't  last  long.  You'll 
see  things  in  a  different  way  when  it  ends." 

Betty  smiled  into  his  pleading  eyes: 

"How  little  you  know  me,  Boy!  Nothing  on  this 

earth  could  separate  me  from  the  man  I  love "  she 

paused  and  breathed  quickly  " I'd  follow  him 

blindfold  to  the  bottomless  pit  once  I'd  given  him  my 
heart!" 

Ned  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet  and  drew  Betty  with 
him.  His  hand  now  was  hot  with  the  passion  that  fired 
his  soul. 

159 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Then  you're  worth  fighting  for.  And  I'm  going  to 
fight — fight  for  what  I  believe  to  be  right  and  fight 
for  you » 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  his  slender  figure  straight 
ened: 

"I'm  coming  back  to  you,  Betty !"  he  said  with  clear 
ringing  emphasis.  "I'm  coming  back  to  Washington. 
I'll  be  with  an  army  conquering,  triumphant,  because 
they  are  right.  There'll  be  a  new  President;  in  the 
White  House  and  I'll  win!" 

He  bowed  and  reverently  kissed  the  tips  of  her  fin 
gers. 

"You  glorious  boy!"  she  sighed.  "It's  beautiful  to 
be  loved  like  that !  I'm  proud  of  it — I'll  hold  my  head 
a  little  higher  with  every  thought  of  you — '- — " 

"And  you'll  think  of  me  sometimes  when  war  has 
separated  us?" 

"I'll  never  forget!" 

"And  remember  that  I'm  fighting  my  way  back  to 
your  side?" 

A  tender  smile  played  about  the  corners  of  her  eyes 
and  mouth: 

"I'll  remember." 

With  a  quick,  firm  movement  he  turned,  passed 
through  the  house,  and  strode  toward  the  iron  gate. 

He  suddenly  confronted  John  entering. 

The  two  brothers  faced  each  other  for  a  moment 
angrily  and  awkwardly,  and  then  the  anger  slowly 
melted  from  the  younger  man's  eyes. 

"You  are  taking  dinner  with  Miss  Betty  to-night?" 
Ned  asked  in  friendly  tones. 

"Yes,  I'm  going  with  her  to  the  White  House,"  was 
the  cold  reply. 

160 


LOVE   AND   DUTY 


"I'm  leaving  in  an  hour.  Don't  you  think  it's  foolish 
for  two  brothers  who  have  been  what  you  and  I  have 
been  to  each  other  to  part  like  this?  We  may  not 
see  one  another  again." 

John  hesitated  and  then  slowly  slipped  his  arm 
around  the  younger  man,  holding  him  in  silence.  When 
his  voice  was  steady  he  said: 

"Forgive  me,  Boy.  I  was  blind  with  anger.  It 
meant  so  much  to  me.  But  we'll  face  it.  We'll  have 
to  fight  it  out — as  God  gives  us  wisdom  to  see  the 
right » 

Ned's  hand  found  his,  and  clasped  it  firmly: 

"As  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right,  John — Good 
bye." 

"Good-bye,  Boy, — it's  hard  to  say  it !" 

They  clung  to  each  other  for  a  moment  and  slowly 
drew  apart  as  the  shadows  of  the  soft  spring  night 
deepened. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE  TRIAL,  BY   FIRE 

The  troops  transformed  Washington  from  a  lazy 
Southern  town  of  sixty  thousand  inhabitants  into  an 
armed  fortress  of  the  frontier,  swarming  with  a  quar 
ter  of  a  million  excited  men  and  women.  Soldiers 
thronged  the  streets  and  sidewalks  and  sprawled  over 
every  inch  of  greensward,  their  uniforms  of  every  cut 
and  color  on  which  the  sun  of  heaven  had  shone  during 
the  past  two  hundred  years  of  history. 

When  the  tumult  and  the  shouts  of  departing  regi 
ments  had  died  away  from  the  home  towns  in  the 
North  and  the  flags  that  were  flying  from  every  house 
had  begun  to  fade  under  the  hot  rays  of  the  advanc 
ing  summer,  the  patriotic  orators  and  editors  began 
to  demand  of  their  President  why  his  grand  army  of 
seventy-five  thousand  lingered  at  the  Capital.  When 
he  mildly  suggested  the  necessity  of  drilling,  equipping 
and  properly  arming  them  he  was  laughed  at  by  the 
wise,  and  scoffed  at  as  a  coward  by  the  brave. 

Mutterings  of  discontent  grew  deeper  and  more 
threatening.  They  demanded  a  short,  sharp,  decisive 
campaign.  Let  the  army  wheel  into  line,  march 
straight  into  Richmond,  take  Jefferson  Davis  a  pris 
oner,  hang  him  and  a  few  leaders  of  the  "rebellion," 
and  the  trouble  would  be  over.  This  demand  became 
at  length  the  maddened  cry  of  a  mob: 

162 


THE    TRIAL   BY   FIRE 


"On  to  Richmond!" 

Every  demagogue  howled  it.  Every  newspaper  re 
peated  it.  As  city  after  city,  and  State  after  State 
took  up  the  cry,  the  pressure  on  the  man  at  the  helm 
of  Government  became  resistless.  It  was  a  political 
necessity  to  fight  a  battle  and  fight  at  once  or  lose  con 
trol  of  the  people  he  had  been  called  to  lead. 

The  Abolitionists  only  sneered  at  this  cry.  They 
demanded  an  answer  to  a  single  insistent  question: 

"What  are  you  going  to  fight  about?" 

A  battle  which  does  not  settle  the  question  of  Slavery 
they  declared  to  be  a  waste  of  blood  and  treasure.  If 
the  slave  was  not  the  issue,  why  fight?  The  South 
would  return  to  the  Union  which  they  had  always  ruled 
if  let  alone.  Why  fight  them  for  nothing? 

Gilbert  Winter,  their  spokesman  at  Washington, 
again  confronted  the  President  with  his  uncompro 
mising  demand: 

"An  immediate  proclamation  of  emancipation!" 

And  the  President  with  quiet  dignity  refused  to 
consider  it. 

"Why?"  again  thundered  the  Senator. 

His   answer  was   always  the  same: 

"I  am  not  questioning  the  right  or  wrong  of  Slavery. 
If  Slavery  is  not  wrong,  nothing  is  wrong.  But  the 
Constitution,  which  I  have  sworn  to  uphold  in  the 
Border  States  of  Maryland,  Missouri  and  Kentucky, 
guarantees  to  their  people  the  right  to  hold  slaves 
if  they  choose.  We  have  already  eleven  Southern 
States  solidly  arrayed  against  us.  Add  the  Border 
States  by  such  a  proclamation,  and  the  contest  is  set 
tled  before  a  blow  is  struck.  I  know  the  power  of 
State  loyalty  in  the  South.  I  was  born  there.  Many 

163 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


a  mother  in  Richmond  wept  the  days  the  stars  and 
stripes  were  lowered  from  their  Capitol.  And  well 
*  they  might — for  their  sires  created  this  Republic.  But 
they  brushed  their  tears  away  and  sent  their  sons  to 
the  front  next  day  to  fight  that  flag  in  the  name  of 
Virginia.  So  would  thousands  of  mothers  in  these 
remaining  Slave  States  if  I  put  them  to  the  test.  I'm 
going  to  save  them  for  the  Union.  In  God's  own  time 
Slavery  will  be  destroyed." 

Against  every  demand  of  the  heart  of  the  party 
which  had  given  him  power,  he  stood  firm  in  the  posi 
tion  he  had  taken. 

But  there  was  no  resisting  the  universal  demand  for 
a  march  on  Richmond.  The  cry  was  literally  from 
twenty  millions.  He  must  heed  it  or  yield  the  reins 
of  power  to  more  daring  hands. 

To  add  to  the  President's  burden,  his  Secretary  of 
'V  State  was  still  dreaming  of  foreign  wars.  He  had 
drawn  up  a  letter  of  instruction  to  our  Minister  to 
Great  Britain  which  would  have  provoked  an  armed 
conflict.  When  the  backwoodsman  from  Southern  Il 
linois  read  this  document  he  was  compelled  to  lay 
aside  his  other  duties  and  practically  rewrite  it.  His 
work  showed  a  freedom  of  mind,  a  balance  of  judicial 
temperament,  an  insight  into  foreign  affairs,  a  skill 
in  the  use  of  language,  a  delicacy  of  criticism,  a  mas 
tery  of  the  arts  of  diplomacy  which  placed  him  among 
the  foremost  statesmen  of  any  age,  and  all  the  ages. 

He  saved  the  Nation  from  a  second  disastrous  war, 
as  a  mere  matter  of  the  routine  of  his  office,  and  at 
once  turned  to  the  pressing  work  of  the  approaching 
battle. 

John  Vaughan  had  joined  the  army  as  correspondent 

164 


THE    TRIAL   BY   FIRE 


for  his  paper,  and  Betty  had  been  his  companion  on 
many  tours  of  inspection  through  camp,  hospitals  and 
drill  grounds.  Her  quick  wit  and  brilliant  mind  were 
an  inspiring  stimulus.  She  was  cool  and  self- 
possessed  and  it  rested  him  to  be  near  her.  She  was 
the  only  restful  woman  he  had  ever  encountered  at 
short  range.  He  was  delighted  that  she  seemed  content 
without  love-making.  There  was  never  a  moment  when 
he  could  catch  the  challenge  of  sex  in  a  word  or  atti 
tude.  He  might  have  been  her  older  brother,  so  per 
fect  and  even,  so  free  and  simple  her  manner. 

Betty  had  watched  him  with  the  keenest  caution. 
The  first  glance  at  John's  handsome  face  had  con 
vinced  her  of  his  boundless  vanity  and  beneath  it  a 
streak  of  something  cruel.  She  would  have  liked  him 
instantly  but  for  this.  His  vanity  she  could  forgive. 
All  good-looking  men  are  vain.  His  character  was  a 
study  of  which  she  never  tired.  He  strangely  dis 
tressed  and  disturbed  her — and  this  kept  puzzling  and 
piquing  her  curiosity.  Every  time  she  determined  to 
end  their  association  this  everlasting  question  of  the 
man's  inner  character  came  to  torment  her  imagina 
tion. 

She  was  a  little  disappointed  at  his  not  volunteering 
at  the  first  call  as  his  gallant  young  brother  had  done. 
Yet  his  reasoning  was  sound. 

"What's  the  use?"  he  replied  to  her  question.  "Five 
men  have  already  volunteered  for  every  one  who  can 
be  used.  I'm  not  a  soldier  by  profession  or  inclination. 
A  campaign  of  thirty  days,  one  big  battle  and  the 
war's  over.  The  President  has  more  men  than  he  can 
arm  or  equip.  My  paper  needs  me " 

The  army  encamped  along  the  banks  of  the  Po- 
165 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


tomac  received  orders  to  advance  for  the  long  ex 
pected  battle  in  the  hills  of  Virginia. 

Betty  stood  with  the  crowds  of  sweethearts  and 
wives  and  sisters  and  mothers  and  watched  them 
march  away  through  the  dust  and  heat  and 
grime  of  the  Southern  summer,  drums  throbbing, 
banners  streaming,  bayonets  flashing  and  bands 
playing. 

John  Vaughan  was  in  the  ranks  of  a  New  York 
regiment.  He  pressed  Betty's  hand  with  a  lingering 
touch  he  hadn't  intended.  She  seemed  unconscious  that 
he  was  holding  it. 

"You  are  going  to  march  in  the  ranks?"  she  asked 
in  surprise. 

"Yes.  I  want  to  see  war  as  it  is.  These  boys  are 
my  friends  from  New  York." 

"You  will  fight  with  them?" 

"No — just  see  with  their  eyes — that's  all.  And  then 
tell  you  exactly  what  happened.  I  can  hide  behind 
a  barn  or  a  tree  without  being  court-martialed." 

She  looked  at  him  quickly  with  a  new  interest,  pressed 
his  hand  again  and  said: 

"Good  luck!" 

"And  home  again  soon!"  he  cried  with  a  wave  of 
his  arms  as  he  hurried  to  join  his  marching  men. 

The  army  camped  at  Centreville,  seven  miles  from 
Beauregard's  lines,  and  spent  the  19th  and  20th  of 
July  resting  and  girding  their  loins  for  the  first  bap 
tism  of  fire.  The  volunteers  were  eager  for  the  fray. 
The  first  touch  of  the  skirmishers  had  resulted  in  fif 
teen  or  twenty  killed.  But  the  action  had  been  too  far 
away  to  make  any  serious  impression. 

Between  the  two  armies  crept  the  silvery  thread  of 
166 


THE    TRIAL   BY   FIRE 


the  little  stream  of  Bull  Run,  its  clear  beautiful  waters 
flashing  in  the  July  sun. 

Saturday  night,  the  20th,  orders  were  issued  to 
John's  regiment  to  be  in  readiness  to  advance  against 
the  enemy  at  two  o'clock  before  day  on  Sunday  morn 
ing.  A  thrill  of  fierce  excitement  swept  the  camp. 
They  were  loaded  down  with  overcoats,  haversacks, 
knapsacks  and  baggage,  baggage,  baggage  without  en^d. 
The  single  New  York  regiment  to  which  he  had  at 
tached  himself  required  forty  wagons  to  move  its  bag 
gage.  They  had  a  bakery  and  cooking  establishment 
that  would  have  done  credit  to  Broadway.  They  hur 
riedly  packed  all  they  could  carry  in  readiness  for  the 
march  into  battle.  What  would  happen  to  the  rest 
God  only  knew,  but  they  hoped  for  the  best.  Of 
course,  the  battle  couldn't  last  long.  It  was  only 
necessary  for  this  grand  army  to  make  a  demonstra 
tion  with  its  drums  throbbing,  its  fifes  screaming,  its 
bayonets  flashing  and  its  magnificent  uniforms  glitter 
ing  in  the  sun — the  plumes,  the  Scotch  bonnets,  the 
Turkish  fez,  the  Garibaldi  shirts,  the  blue  and  grey 
and  gold,  the  black  and  yellow,  and  the  red  and  blue 
of  the  fire  Zouaves — when  the  rebel  mob  saw  these 
things  they  would  take  to  their  heels. 

What  the  boys  were  really  afraid  of  was  that  every 
rebel  would  escape  before  they  could  use  their  hand 
cuffs  and  ropes.  This  would  be  too  bad  because  the 
procession  through  the  crowded  streets  at  home  would 
be  incomplete  without  captives  as  a  warning  to  future 
traitors.  They  were  going  to  have  a  load  to  carry 
with  their  blanket  rolls,  haversack  and  knapsack  and 
the  full  fighting  rounds  of  cartridges,  but  they  were 
not  going  to  leave  the  handcuffs.  If  they  had  to  drop 

167 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


anything  on  the  march  they  might  ease  up  on  a  blan 
ket  or  half  their  heavy  cartridges. 

John  found  sleep  impossible,  and  was  ready  to  move 
at  one  o'clock.  The  dust  was  rising  already  in  parched 
clouds  from  the  dry  Virginia  roads.  He  walked  to 
the  edge  of  the  woods  and  gazed  over  the  dark  moonlit 
hills  around  Centreville.  A  gentle  breeze  began  to  stir 
the  leaves  overhead  but  it  was  hot  and  lifeless.  He 
caught  the  smell  of  sweating  horses  in  a  battery  of 
artillery,  hitched  for  the  march.  It  was  going  to  be 
a  day  of  frightful  heat  under  the  clear  blazing  sun 
of  thejSouth,  this  Sunday,  the  21st  of  July,  1861.  He 
could  see  already  in  his  imagination  the  long  lines  of 
sweating  half  fainting  marchers  staggering  under  the 
strain.  Yet  not  for  a  moment  did  he  doubt  the  result. 

From  a  store  on  the  hill  at  Centreville  came  the 
plaintive  strains  of  a  negro's  voice  accompanied  by  a 
banjo.  A  crowd  of  Congressmen  had  driven  out  from 
Washington  on  a  picnic  to  see  the  spectacle  of  the  first 
and  last  battle  of  the  "Rebellion."  They  were  drink 
ing  good  whiskey  and  making  merry. 

For  the  first  time  a  little  doubt  crept  into  his  mind. 
Were  they  all  too  cocksure?  It  might  be  a  serious 
business  after  all.  It  was  only  for  a  moment  and  his 
fears  vanished.  He  was  glad  Ned  was  not  in  those 
grey  lines  in  front.  His  company  had  been  formed 
promptly,  and  he  had  been  elected  first  lieutenant,  but 
they  were  still  in  Southern  Missouri  under  General 
Sterling  Price.  He  shouldn't  like  to  come  on  his  broth 
er's  body  dead  or  wounded  after  the  battle — the  young 
dare-devil  fool! 

Promptly  at  two  o'clock  the  sharp  orders  rang  from 
the  regimental  commander: 

168 


THE    TRIAL   BY   FIRE 


"Forward  march!" 

The  lines  swung  carelessly  into  the  powdered  dust 
of  the  road  and  moved  forward  into  the  fading  moon 
light,  talking,  laughing,  chatting,  joking.  War  was 
jet  a  joke  and  the  contagious  fire  of  patriotism  had 
flung  'its  halo  even  over  this  night's  work.  Except 
here  and  there  a  veteran  of  the  Mexican  War,  not  one 
of  these  men  had  ever  seen  a  battle  or  had  the  re 
motest  idea  what  it  was  like. 

John  was  marching  with  Sherman's  brigade  of  Ty 
ler's  division.  At  six  o'clock  they  reached  the  stone 
bridge  which  crossed  Bull  Run.  On  the  hills  beyond 
stretched  a  straggling  line  of  grey  figures.  It  couldn't 
be  an  army.  Only  a  few  skirmishers  thrown  out  to 
warn  off  an  attempt  to  cross  the  bridge.  A  white  puff 
of  smoke  flashed  on  a  hill  toward  the  South,  and  the 
deep  boom  of  a  Confederate  cannon  echoed  over  the 
valley.  Tyler's  guns  answered  in  grim  chorus.  The 
men  gripped  their  muskets  and  waited  the  word  of 
command.  John's  brigade  was  deployed  along  the 
edge  of  a  piece  of  woods  on  the  right  of  the  Warrenton 
turnpike  and  stood  for  hours.  A  rumble  of  disgust 
swept  the  lines : 

"What  fell  are  we  waitin'  for?" 

"Why  don't  we  get  at  'em?" 

"And  this   is  war!" 

And  no  breakfast  either.  An  hour  passed  and  only 
an  occasional  crack  of  a  musket  across  the  shining 
thread  of  silver  water  and  the  slow  sullen  echo  of  the 
artillery.  They  seemed  to  be  just  practising.  The 
shots  all  fell  short  and  nobody  was  hurt. 

Another  hour — it  was  eight  o'clock  and  still  they 
stood  and  looked  off  into  space.  Nine  o'clock  passed 

169 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


and  the  fierce  rays  of  the  climbing  July  sun  drove  the 
men  to  the  shelter  of  the  trees. 

"If  this  is  war,"  yelled  a  red-breeched,  fierce  young 
Zouave,  "I'll  take  firecrackers  and  a  Fourth  of  July 
for  mine!" 

"Keep  your  shirt  on,  Sonny,"  observed  a  corporal. 
"We  may  have  some  fun  yet  before  night." 

At  ten  o'clock  something  happened. 

Suddenly  a  thousand  grey  clad  men  leaped  from 
their  cover  over  the  hills  and  swept  up  stream  at 
double  quick.  A  solid  mass  of  dust-covered  figures 
were  swarming  below  the  stone  bridge. 

The  regiment's  battery  dashed  into  position,  its 
guns  were  trained  and  their  roar  shook  the  earth.  The 
swarming  grey  lines  below  the  bridge  paid  no  atten 
tion.  The  shots  fell  short  and  Sherman  sent  for  heavier 
guns. 

The  men  in  grey  had  formed  a  new  line  of  battle  and 
faced  the  Sudley  and  New  Market  road.  Far  up 
this  road  could  now  be  seen  a  mighty  cloud  of  dust 
which  marked  the  approach  of  the  main  body  of  Mc 
Dowell's  Union  army.  He  had  made  a  wide  flank 
movement,  crossed  Bull  Run  at  Sudley  Ford  and  was 
attempting  to  completely  turn  the  Confederate  posi 
tion,  while  Sherman  held  the  stone  bridge  with  a  dem 
onstration  of  force. 

A  cheer  swept  the  line  as  the  dust  rose  higher  and 
denser  and  nearer. 

Banks  of  storm  clouds  were  rising  from  the  hori 
zon.  The  air  was  thick  and  oppressive,  as  the  two 
armies  drew  close  in  tense  battle  array.  The  turning 
movement  had  only  been  partly  successful.  It  had 
been  discovered  before  complete  and  a  grey  line  had 

170 


THE    TRIAL   BY   FIRE 


wheeled,  gripped  their  muskets  and  stood  ready  to 
meet  the  attack. 

The  dust  cloud  suddenly  fell.  McDowell's  two  di 
visions  of  eighteen  thousand  men  spread  out  in  the 
woods  and  made  ready  for  the  shock. 

The  sun  burst  through  the  gathering  clouds  for  a 
moment  and  the  edge  of  the  woods  flashed  with  polished 
steel. 

A  Federal  battery  dashed  into  position  and  placed 
one  of  its  big  black-wheeled  guns  in  the  front  yard 
of  a  little  white-washed  farmhouse.  The  farmer's 
wife  faced  the  commander  with  indignant  fury : 

"Take  that  thing  outen  my  front  yard!" 

The  dust-  and  sweat-covered  men  paid  no  attention. 
They  quickly  sunk  the  wheels  into  the  ground  and 
piled  their  shells  in  place  for  work. 

The  old  woman  stamped  her  foot  and  shouted  again : 

"Take  that  thing  away  I  tell  you — I  won't  have 
it  here!" 

The  captain  seized  his  lanyard,  trained  his  piece 
and  the  big  black  lips  roared. 

With  a  scream  of  terror  the  woman  covered  her  ears, 
rushed  inside  and  slammed  the  door.  They  found  her 
torn  and  mangled  body  there  after  the  battle.  An 
answering  shell  had  crashed  through  the  roof  and  ex 
ploded. 

Sherman's  men,  standing  in  the  woods  before  the 
stone  bridge  waiting  orders,  saw  the  white  and  blue  fog 
of  battle  rise  above  the  tree  tops  and  felt  the  earth 
tremble  beneath  their  feet. 

And  then  came  to  John's  ears  the  first  full  crash 
of  musketry  fire  in  close  deadly  range.  As  company, 
regiment  and  brigade  joined  in  volley  after  volley,  it 

171 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


was  like  the  sound  of  the  continuous  ripping  of  heavy 
canvas,  magnified  on  the  scale  of  a  thousand.  As  the 
storm  cloud  swept  over  the  smoke-choked  field  the  rat 
tle  of  musketry  sounded  as  if  an  angry  God  rode  some 
where  in  their  fiery  depths,  and  with  giant  hand  was 
ripping  the  heavens  open ! 

An  hour  passed  and  a  shout  of  triumph  swept  the 
Federal  lines.  They  charged  and  drove  the  Confed 
erate  forces  back  a  half  mile  from  their  first  stand. 
There  was  a  lull — a  strange  silence  brooded  over  the 
flaming  woods  and  the  guns  opened  from  their  new  po 
sition — the  artillery's  deep  thunder  and  the  ripping 
crash  of  muskets.  Another  hour  and  another  wild 
shout  of  victory.  They  had  driven  the  Southerners 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  further. 

The  shouts  suddenly  stopped.  They  had  struck 
something. 

The  grim  dust-covered  figure  of  a  Southern  Briga 
dier  General  on  a  little  sorrel  horse  had  barred  the  way. 
His  bulging  forehead  with  its  sombre  blue  eyes  hung 
ominously  over  the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

General  Bee,  of  South  Carolina,  rallying  his  shat 
tered,  broken  brigade,  pointed  his  sword  to  the  strange 
figure  and  shouted  to  his  men: 

"See  Jackson  standing  like  a  stone  wall — rally  to 
the  Virginians !" 

A  bursting  shell  struck  him  dead  in  the  next  in 
stant,  but  the  world  had  heard  and  the  name  "Stone 
wall"  became  immortal. 

With  the  last  shout,  the  cry  of  victory  had  swept 
the  field  to  the  farthest  line  of  reserves.  John  Vaughan 
secured  a  horse,  galloped  to  the  nearest  telegraph  line 
and  sent  the  thrilling  news  to  his  paper.  Already  the 

172 


THE    TRIAL   BY   FIRE 


wires  were  flashing  it  to  the  farthest  cities  of  the 
North  and  West. 

Victory!  The  first  and  last  battle  of  the  war  had 
been  settled.  He  spurred  his  horse  through  the  blister 
ing  heat  back  to  his  regiment  to  join  in  the  pursuit  of 
the  flying  enemy. 

They  were  just  dashing  across  Bull  Run  going  into 
action,  their  battle  flag  flying  and  their  band  playing. 
They  were  not  long  in  finding  the  foe.  The  obstruction 
still  remained  in  the  path  of  the  advancing  hosts.  The 
grim  figure  on  the  little  sorrel  horse  had  just  ordered 
his  brigade  to  fix  bayonets. 

In  sharp  tones  his  command  was  snapped: 

"Charge  and  take  that  battery!" 

A  low  grey  cloud  rose  from  the  hill,  swept  over  the 
crack  Federal  battery  of  Ricketts  and  Griffin  and  cap 
tured  their  guns. 

John's  regiment  reached  the  field  just  in  time  to  see 
the  cannoneers  fall  in  their  tracks  at  the  first  deadly 
volley  from  the  charging  men. 

Every  horse  was  down  dead  or  wounded.  The  pitiful 
cries  of  the  stricken  horses  rang  over  the  field  above 
the  roar  of  the  battle,  pathetic,  heartrending,  sicken 
ing. 

The  two  armies  had  clinched  now  in  the  grim  strug 
gle  which  meant  defeat  or  victory.  It  was  incredible 
that  the  army  which  swept  the  field  for  four  terrible 
hours  should  fail.  The  new  regiments  formed  in  line 
and  with  a  shout  of  desperation  charged  Jackson's 
men  and  retook  the  captured  battery. 

Again  the  men  in  grey  rallied  and  tore  the  guns 
a  second  time  from  the  hands  of  their  owners. 

John  saw  a  shell  explode  directly  beneath  a  mag- 
173 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


nificent  horse  on  which  a  general  sat  directing  his 
men.  The  horse  was  blown  to  atoms,  the  general  was 
hurled  twenty  feet  into  the  air  and  struck  the  ground 
on  his  feet.  He  was  unhurt,  called  for  another  horse, 
mounted  and  led  the  third  charge  to  recover  the  guns. 
For  a  moment  the  two  battle  lines  mingled  in  deadly 
hand  to  hand  combat  and  once  more  the  guns  were 
retaken. 

It  had  scarcely  been  done  before  Jackson's  men 
rallied,  turned  and  swift  as  a  bolt  of  lightning  from 
the  smoke-covered  hill  captured  the  guns  the  third  time 
and  held  them. 

And  then  the  unexpected,  unimaginable  thing  hap 
pened.  A  new  dust  cloud  rose  over  the  hill  toward 
Manassas  Junction.  The  Southerners  were  hoping 
against  hope  that  it  might  be  Kirby  Smith  with  his 
lost  regiment  from  the  Shenandoah  Valley.  The  regi 
ment  had  been  expected  since  noon.  It  was  now  half 
past  three  o'clock.  General  McDowell,  the  Union 
Commander,  was  hoping  against  hope  that  Patterson's 
army  from  the  Shenandoah  would  join  his. 

They  were  not  long  in  doubt.  The  fresh  troops 
suddenly  swung  into  position  on  McDowell's  right 
flank.  If  they  were  allies  all  was  well.  If  they  were 
foes!  Suddenly  from  this  line  of  battle  rose  a  new 
cry  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  From  two  thousand 
dusty  throats  came  a  heaven-piercing,  soul-shivering 
shout,  the  cry  of  the  Southern  hunter  in  sight  of  his 
game,  a  cry  that  was  destined  to  ring  over  many  a 
field  of  death— the  fierce,  wild  "Rebel  Yell." 

They  charged  McDowell's  right  flank  with  resist 
less  onslaught.  Kirby  Smith  fell  desperately  wounded 
and  Elzey  took  command.  Beckham's  battery  un- 

174 


THE    TRIAL   BY   FIRE 


limbered  and  poured  into  the  ranks  from  the  rear  a 
storm  of  shell.  McDowell  swung  his  battle  line  into 
a  fiery  crescent  and  made  his  last  desperate  stand. 

Jubal  Early,  Elzey's  brigade,  and  Stonewall  Jackson 
charged  at  the  same  signal — and  then — pandemonium! 

Blind,  unreasoning  panic  seized  the  army  of  the 
North.  They  broke  and  fled.  Brave  officers  cursed 
and  swore  in  vain.  The  panic  grew.  Men  rushed 
pell  mell  over  one  another,  white  with  terror.  They 
threw  down  their  muskets,  their  knapsacks,  their  haver 
sacks  and  ran  for  their  lives,  every  man  for  himself, 
and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost.  In  vain  the  regular 
army,  with  splendid  discipline,  formed  a  rear  guard 
to  effect  an  orderly  retreat.  The  crack  of  their  guns 
only  made  the  men  run  faster. 

The  wildest  rumors  flew  from  parched  tongue  to 
throbbing  ear. 

An  army  of  a  hundred  thousand  fresh  troops  had 
fallen  on  their  tired,  bloody  ranks.  They  were  led  by 
Jeb  Stuart  at  the  head  of  four  thousand  Black  Horse 
Cavalry.  If  a  single  man  escaped  alive  it  would  be 
for  one  reason,  only  they  could  outrun  them.  It  was 
a  crime  for  officers  to  try  to  round  them  up  for  a 
massacre.  That's  all  it  was — a  massacre!  With  each 
mad  thought  of  the  rushing  mob  the  panic  grew.  They 
cut  the  traces  of  horses  from  guns  and  left  them  on 
the  field.  The  frantic  mob  engulfed  the  buggies  and 
carriages  of  the  Congressmen  and  picnickers  from 
Washington  who  had  come  out  to  see  the  Rebellion  put 
down  at  a  single  blow.  The  road  became  a  mass  of 
neighing,  plunging  horses,  broken  and  tangled  wagons, 
ambulances  and  riderless  artillery  teams.  Horses 
neighed  in  terror  more  abject  than  that  which  filled 

175 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


the  hearts  of  men.  Men  once  had  reason — the  poor 
horse  had  never  claimed  it.  The  blockades  on  the  road 
formed  no  barrier  to  the  flying  men  on  foot.  They 
streamed  around  and  overflowed  into  the  woods  and 
fields  and  pressed  on  with  new  terror.  God  in  Heaven ! 
They  pitied  the  poor  fools  engulfed  in  those  masses 
of  maddened  plunging  brutes  and  smashing  wagons. 
It  was  only  a  question  of  a  few  minutes  when  Stuart's 
sabres  would  split  every  skull. 

John  Vaughan  was  swept  to  the  rear  on  the  crest 
of  this  wave  of  terror.  Up  to  the  moment  it  began 
he  had  scarcely  thought  of  danger.  After  the  first  few 
minutes  of  nerve  tension  under  fire  his  spirit  had  risen 
as  the  combat  raged  and  deepened.  It  didn't  seem 
real,  the  falling  of  men  around  him.  He  had  no  time 
to  realize  that  they  were  being  torn  to  pieces  by  shot 
and  shell  and  the  hail  of  lead  that  whistled  from  those 
long  sheets  of  flaming  smoke-banks  before  him. 

And  then  the  panic  had  seized  him.  He  had  caught 
its  mad  unreasoning  terror  from  the  men  who  surged 
about  him.  And  it  was  every  man  for  himself.  The 
change  was  swift,  abject,  complete  from  utter  uncon 
sciousness  of  fear  to  the  blindest  terror.  Some  ran 
mechanically,  with  their  eyes  set  in  front  as  if  stiff 
with  fear,  expecting  each  moment  to  be  struck  dead, 
knowing  it  was  useless  to  try  but  going  on  and  on  be 
cause  involuntary  muscles  were  carrying  them. 

A  fat  man  caught  hold  of  John's  coat  and  held  on 
for  half  a  mile  before  he  could  shake  him  off.  He 
begged  piteously  for  help. 

"Don't  leave  me,  partner!"  he  panted.  "I'm  a  sin 
ful  man.  I  ain't  fit  to  die.  You're  young  and  strong — 
save  me!" 

176 


THE   TRIAL   BY   FIRE 


The  dead  weight  was  pulling  him  down  and  John 
shook  the  fellow  off  with  an  angry  jerk. 

"To  hell  with  you!" 

They  suddenly  came  to  a  lot  of  horses  hid  in  the 
woods,  rearing  and  plunging  and  neighing  madly. 

John  swerved  out  of  their  way  and  an  officer  rushed 
up  to  him  crying: 

"Why  don't  you  take  a  horse?" 

He  looked  at  him  in  a  dazed  way  before  he  could 
realize  his  meaning. 

"Take  a  horse !"  he  yelled.  "The  rebels  will  get  'em 
if  you  don't " 

The  men  were  too  intent  on  running  to  try  to 
save  horses.  Horses  would  have  to  look  out  for  them 
selves. 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  John  that  a  horse  might 
go  faster.  Funny  he  hadn't  thought  of  it  at  once. 
He  turned,  seized  one,  mounted,  and  galloped  on. 
There  was  a  quick  halt.  A  panting  mob  came  surging 
back  over  the  way  they  had  just  fled.  A  ford  in  front 
had  been  blocked,  and  in  the  scramble  the  cry  was 
raised  that  Stuart's  cavalry  were  on  them  and  cutting 
every  soul  down  in  his  tracks  at  the  crossing. 

John  leaped  from  his  horse,  turned,  and  ran  straight 
for  the  woods.  He  didn't  propose  to  be  captured  by 
Stuart's  cavalry,  that  was  sure.  He  turned  to  look 
back  and  ran  into  a  tree.  He  climbed  it.  If  he  could 
only  get  to  the  top  before  they  saw  him.  He  had 
been  an  expert  climber  when  a  boy  in  Missouri  and 
he  thanked  God  now  for  this.  He  never  paused  for 
breath  until  he  had  reached  the  very  top,  where  he 
drew  the  swaying  branches  close  about  his  body  to 
hide  from  the  coming  foe.  The  sun  was  yet  hanging 

177 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


over  the  trees  in  the  woods — a  ball  of  sullen  red  fire 
lighting  up  the  hiding  place  of  the  last  poor  devil  for 
the  eyes  of  the  avenging  hosts  who  were  sweeping  on. 
If  it  were  night  it  would  be  all  right.  But  this  was 
no  place  for  a  man  with  an  ounce  of  sense  in  broad 
daylight.  The  sharpshooters  would  see  him  in  that 
tall  tree  sure.  They  couldn't  take  him  prisoner  up 
there — they  would  shoot  him  like  a  squirrel  just  to 
see  him  tumble  and,  by  the  Lord  Harry,  they  would 
do  it,  too! 

He  got  down  from  the  tree  faster  than  he  climbed 
up  and  from  the  edge  of  the  woods  spied  a  dense 
swamp.  He  never  stopped  until  he  reached  the  centre 
of  it,  and  dropped  flat  on  his  stomach. 

"Thank  God,  at  last!"  he  sighed. 

The  Northern  army  fleeing  for  Washington  had  left 
on  the  field  twenty-eight  guns,  four  thousand  muskets, 
nine  regimental  flags,  four  hundred  and  eighty-one 
dead,  a  thousand  and  eleven  wounded  and  fourteen  hun 
dred  captured.  The  road  to  the  rear  was  literally 
sown  with  pistols,  knapsacks,  blankets,  haversacks, 
wagons,  tools  and  hospital  stores. 

And  saddest  of  all  the  wreck,  lay  the  bright  new 
handcuffs  with  coils  of  hang-man's  rope  scattered 
everywhere. 

The  Southern  army  had  lost  three  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  killed,  including  two  brigadier  generals, 
Bee  and  Barton,  and  fifteen  hundred  wounded.  They 
were  so  completely  scattered  and  demoralized  by  their 
marvellous  and  overwhelming  victory  that  any  system 
atic  pursuit  of  their  foe  was  impossible. 

The  strange  silent  figure  on  the  little  sorrel  horse 
turned  his  blue  eyes  toward  Washington  from  the  last 

178 


THE  TRIAL  BY  FIRE 


hilltop  as  darkness  fell,  lifted  his  head  suddenly  to 
ward  the  sky,  and  cried: 

"Ten  thousand  fresh  troops  and  I'd  be  in  Washing 
ton  to-morrow  night!" 

The  troops  were  not  to  be  had,  and  Stonewall  Jack 
son  ordered  his  men  to  bivouac  for  the  night  and  sent 
out  his  details  to  bury  the  dead  and  care  for  the 
wounded  of  both  armies. 

Monday  morning  dawned  black  and  lowering  and 
before  the  sun  rose  the  rain  poured  in  steady  tor 
rents.  Through  every  hour  of  this  desolate  sickening 
day  the  weary,  terror-stricken  stragglers  trailed 
through  the  streets  of  Washington — their  gorgeous 
plumes  soaked  and  drooping,  the  Scotch  bonnets  drip 
ping  the  rain  straight  down  their  necks  and  across 
their  dirty  foreheads,  the  Garibaldi  shirts,  the  blue 
and  grey,  the  black  and  yellow  and  gold  and  blazing 
Zouave  uniforms  rain-soaked  and  mud-smeared. 

Betty  Winter  bought  out  a  peddler's  cake  and 
lemonade  stand  on  the  main  line  of  this  ghastly  pro 
cession  and  through  every  bitter  hour  from  sunrise 
until  dark  stood  there  cheering  and  serving  the  men 
without  money  and  without  price,  while  the  tears 
slowly  rolled  down  her  flushed  cheeks. 


CHAPTER    IX 

VICTORY    IN     DEFEAT 

The  President  had  risen  at  daylight  on  the  fateful 
Sunday  morning.  He  was  sorry  this  first  action  must 
be  fought  on  Sunday.  It  seemed  a  bad  omen.  The 
preachers  from  his  home  town  of  Springfield,  Illinois, 
had  issued  a  manifesto  against  his  election  without 
regard  to  their  party  affiliations  on  account  of  his 
supposed  hostility  to  religion.  It  had  hurt  and  stung 
his  pride  more  than  any  single  incident  in  the  cam- 
paign.  His  nature  was  profoundly  religious.  He  was 
not  a  church  member  because  his  religion  had  the 
unique  quality  of  a  personal  faith  which  refused  from 
sheer  honesty  to  square  itself  with  the  dogmas  of 
any  sect.  The  preachers  had  not  treated  him  fairly, 
but  he  cherished  no  ill  will.  He  knew  their  sterling 
worth  to  the  Republic  and  he  meant  to  use  them  in 
the  tremendous  task  before  him.  He  had  hoped  the 
battle  would  not  be  joined  until  Monday.  But  he 
knew  at  dawn  that  a  clash  was  inevitable. 

At  half  past  ten  o'clock,  though  keenly  anxious  for 
the  first  news  from  the  front,  he  was  ready  to  accom 
pany  Mrs.  Lincoln  to  church.  The  breeze  was  from 
the  South — a  hot,  lazy,  midsummer  heavy  air. 

The  Commander-in-Chief  bent  his  giant  figure  over 
a  war  map,  spread  on  his  desk,  fixed  the  position  of 

180 


VICTORY   IN   DEFEAT 


each  army  by  colored  pins,  studied  them  a  moment 
and  quietly  walked  with  his  wife  to  the  Presbyterian 
Church  to  hear  Dr.  Gurley  preach.  He  sat  in  reverent 
silence  through  the  service,  his  soul  hovering  over  the 
distant  hills. 

Before  midnight  the  panic  stricken  Congressmen  be 
gan  to  drop  into  the  White  House,  each  with  his  story 
of  unparalleled  disaster.  At  one  o'clock  the  President 
stood  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  excited,  perspiring 
statesmen  who  had  crowded  into  the  executive  office, 
the  one  cool,  shrewd,  patient,  self-possessed  courageous 
man  among  them.  He  reviewed  their  stories  quietly 
and  with  no  sign  of  excitement,  to  say  nothing  of 
panic. 

They  marvelled  at  his  dull  intellect. 

He  was  listening  in  silence,  shaping  the  big  new 
policy  of  his  administration. 

He  spent  the  entire  night  calmly  listening  to  all 
these  stories,  speaking  a  word  of  good  cheer  where  it 
would  be  of  service. 

Mr.  Seward  entered  as  he  had  just  finished  a  light 
breakfast. 

The  Secretary's  hair  was  disheveled,  his  black  string 
tie  under  his  ear,  and  he  was  taking  two  pinches  of 
snuff  within  the  time  he  usually  took  one. 

In  thirty  minutes  the  outlines  of  his  message  to 
Congress  and  his  new  proclamation  were  determined. 
Mr.  Seward  left  with  new  courage  and  a  growing  sense 
of  reliance  on  the  wisdom,  courage  and  intellectual 
power  of  the  Chief  he  had  thought  to  supplant  without 
a  struggle. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  man  with  a  grievance  made  his 
first  appearance.  His  wrath  was  past  the  boiling 

181 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


point,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  handsome  uniform 
was  still  wet  from  the  night's  wild  ride. 

He  went  straight  to  the  point.  He  was  a  volun 
teer  patriot  of  high  standing  in  his  community.  As  a 
citizen  of  the  Republic,  wearing  its  uniform,  he  repre 
sented  its  dignity  and  power.  He  had  been  grossly 
insulted  by  a  military  martinet  from  West  Point  and 
he  proposed  to  test  the  question  whether  an  American 
citizen  had  any  rights  such  men  must  respect. 

The  President  lifted  his  calm,  deep  eyes  to  the 
flushed  angry  face,  glanced  at  the  gold  marks  of  his 
rank,  and  said: 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Captain?" 

"I've  come  to  ask  you,  Mr.  President,"  he  began 
with  subdued  intensity,  "whether  a  volunteer  officer  of 
this  country,  a  man  of  culture  and  position,  is  to  be 
treated  as  a  dog  or  a  human  being?" 

The  quiet  man  at  the  desk  slipped  his  glasses  from 
his  ears,  polished  them  with  his  handkerchief,  read 
justed  them,  and  looked  up  again  with  kindly  interest: 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"A  discussion  arose  in  our  regiment  on  the  day  we 
were  ordered  into  battle  over  the  expiration  of  our 
enlistment.  I  held,  as  a  lawyer,  sir,  that  every  day  of 
rotten  manual  labor  we  had  faithfully  performed  for 
our  country  should  be  counted  in  our  three  months 
military  service.  Our  time  had  expired  and  I  de 
manded  that  we  be  discharged  then  and  there " 

"On  the  eve  of  a  battle?" 

"Certainly,  sir — what  had  that  to  do  with  our 
rights?  We  could  have  reenlisted  on  the  spot.  I 
refused  to  take  orders  from  the  upstart  who  com 
manded  our  brigade." 

182 


VICTORY   IN   DEFEAT 


"And  what  happened?"  the  calm  voice  asked. 

"He  dared  to  threaten  my  life,  sir!" 

"Who  was  he?" 

"A  Colonel  in  command  of  our  brigade — named 
Sherman !" 

"William  Tecumseh  Sherman?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?" 

"Swore  that  if  I  moved  an  inch  to  leave  his  com 
mand  he'd  shoot  me " 

"He  said  that  to  you?" 

"Swore  he'd  shoot  me  down  in  my  tracks  like  a 
dog!" 

The  President  gravely  rose,  placed  a  big  hand  on 
the  young  officer's  shoulder  and  in  serious,  friendly 
tones  said: 

"If  I  were  in  your  place,  Captain,  I  wouldn't  trust 
that  man  Sherman — I  believe  he'll  do  it!" 

The  astonished  volunteer  looked  up  with  a  puzzled 
sheepish  expression,  turned  and  shot  out  of  the  room. 

The  long  figure  dropped  into  a  chair  and  doubled 
with  laughter.  He  rose  and  walked  to  his  window, 
looking  out  on  the  trees  swaying  beneath  the  storm, 
still  laughing. 

"They  say  that  every  cloud  has  its  silver  lining!" 
he  laughed  again.  "I'll  remember  that  fellow  Sher 
man." 

Late  in  the  day  a  report  reached  him  of  a  beautiful 
young  woman  serving  refreshments  without  pay  to 
the  straggling,  broken  men. 

He  turned  to  Nicolay,  his  secretary : 

"Get  my  carriage,  find  her,  and  bring  her  to  me. 
I  want  to  see  her," 

183 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Betty's  eyes  were  still  red  when  she  walked  into  his 
office. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  with  long  strides  met 
her.  He  grasped  her  hand  in  both  his  and  pressed 
it  tenderly. 

"So  it's  you!"  he  whispered. 

Betty  nodded. 

"My  little  Cabinet  comforter " 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  be  no  good  to-day,"  she   faltered. 

"Then  I'll  cheer  you,"  he  cried.  "I  just  wanted 
to  thank  the  woman  who's  been  standing  behind  a 
lemonade  counter  through  this  desolate  day  giving 
her  time,  her  money,  and  her  soul  to  our  discouraged 
boys—" 

"And  you  are  not  discouraged?"  Betty  asked 
Apathetically. 

"Not  by  a  long  shot,  my  child!  Brush  those  tears 
away.  Jeffy  D.'s  the  man  to  be  discouraged  to-day. 
This  will  be  a  dearly  bought  victory.  Mark  my  word. 
For  the  South  it's  the  glorious  end  of  the  war.  While 
they  shout,  I'll  be  sawing  wood.  It  needed  just  this 
shock  and  humiliation  to  bring  the  North  to  their 
senses.  Watch  them  buckle  on  their  armor  now  in 
deadly  earnest.  The  demagogues  howled  for  a  battle. 
They  pushed  us  in  and  they  got  it.  Some  of  the 
Congressmen  who  yelled  the  loudest  for  a  march 
straight  into  Richmond  without  a  pause  even  to  water 
the  horses  got  tangled  up  in  that  stampede  from  Bull 
Run.  They  thought  Jeb  Stuart's  cavalry  were  on 
them  and  lost  their  lunch  baskets  in  the  scramble. 
They've  seen  a  great  light.  I'll  get  all  the  money  I 
ask  Congress  for  and  all  the  soldiers  we  need  for  any 
length  of  time.  I've  asked  for  four  hundred  million 

184 


VICTORY   IN   DEFEAT 


dollars  and  five  hundred  thousand  men  for  three  years. 
I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  voted  more.  The  peo 
ple  will  have  sense  enough  to  see  that  this  defeat  was 
exactly  what  they  should  have  expected  under  such 
conditions." 

His  spirit  was  contagious.  Betty  forgot  her  shame 
and  fear. 

"You're  wonderful,  Mr.  President,"  the  girl 
cried  in  rapt  tones.  "Now  I  know  that  you 
have  come  into  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time  as 
this." 

"And  so  have  you,  my  child,"  he  answered  reverently. 
"And  so  has  every  brave  woman  who  loves  this  Union. 
That's  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  and  thank  you 
for  your  example." 

Betty  left  the  White  House  with  a  new  sense  of 
loyal  inspiration.  She  walked  on  air  unconscious  of 
the  pouring  rain.  She  paused  before  a  throng  that 
blocked  the  sidewalk. 

Some  of  them  were  bareheaded,  the  rain  drops  splash 
ing  in  their  faces,  apparently  unconscious  of  anything 
that  was  happening. 

She  pushed  her  way  into  the  crowd.  They  were 
•  looking  at  the  bulletin  board  of  the  Daily  Republican, 
reading  the  first  list  of  the  dead  and  wounded.  Her 
heart  suddenly  began  to  pound.  John  Vaughan  had 
not  reported  his  return.  He  might  be  lying  stark 
and  cold  with  the  rain  beating  down  on  his  mangled 
body.  She  read  each  name  in  the  list  of  the  dead,  and 
drew  a  sigh  of  relief.  But  the  last  bulletin  was  not 
cheering.  It  promised  additional  names  for  a  later 
edition.  Besides,  the  War  Department  might  not  be 
relied  on  for  reports  of  non-combatants.  A  newspaper 

185 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


correspondent  was  not  enrolled  as  a  soldier.    His  death 
might  remain  unrecorded  for  days. 

On  a  sudden  impulse  she  started  to  enter  the  office 
and  ask  if  he  had  returned,  stopped,  blushed,  turned 
and  hurried  home  with  a  new  fear  mingled  with  a 
strange  joy  beating  in  her  heart. 


CHAPTER    X 

THE    AWAKENING 

John  Vaughan  had  secured  a  loose  horse  on  emerg 
ing  from  his  friendly  swamp.  The  shadows  of  night 
had  given  him  the  chance  to  escape.  His  horse  was 
fresh,  the  rain  had  begun  to  fall,  the  heat  had  abated 
and  he  made  good  time. 

He  reached  the  office  before  midnight,  took  his  seat 
at  his  desk,  pale  and  determined  to  tell  the  truth.  He 
wrote  an  account  of  the  battle  and  the  panic  in  which 
it  had  ended  so  vivid,  so  accurate,  so  terrible  in  its 
confession  of  riot  and  dismay,  the  editor  refused  to 
print  it. 

"Why  not?"  John  sternly  demanded. 

"It  won't  do." 

"It's  true!" 

"Then  the  less  said  about  it  the  better.  Let's  hush 
it  up." 

John  smiled: 

"I'm  sorry.  I  would  like  to  see  that  thing  in  type 
just  as  I  saw  and  felt  and  lived  it.  It's  a  good  story 
and  it's  my  last — it's  a  pity  to  kill  it " 

"Your  last?  What  do  you  mean?"  the  chief  broke 
in. 

"That  I'm  going  into  the  ranks,  and  see  if  I  am  a 
coward — "  he  paused  and  scowled — "it  looked  like  it 

187 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


yesterday  for  a  while,  and  my  curiosity's  aroused. 
Besides,  the  country  happens  to  need  me." 

"Rubbish,"  the  editor  cried,  "the  country  will  get 
all  the  men  it  needs  without  you.  You're  a  trained 
newspaper  man.  We  need  you  here." 

"Thanks.  My  mind's  made  up.  I'm  going  to  Mis 
souri  and  raise  a  company." 

The  chief  laid  a  hand  on  John's  shoulder.  "Don't 
be  a  fool.  Stand  by  the  ship.  I'll  put  your  damned 
story  in  just  as  you  wrote  it  if  that's  what  hurts." 

John  flushed  and  shook  his  head: 

"But  it  isn't.  You  may  be  right  about  the  stuff. 
If  I  were  editor  I'd  kill  it  myself.  No.  My  dander's 
up.  I  want  a  little  taste  of  the  real  thing.  I  saw 
enough  yesterday  to  interest  me.  The  country's  call 
ing  and  I've  got  to  go." 

The  boys  crowded  around  him  and  shook  hands. 
From  the  door  he  waved  his  good-bye  and  they  shouted 
in  chorus: 

"Good  luck!" 

Arrived  at  his  room,  he  wrote  a  note  to  Betty 
Winter.  He  read  it  over  and  it  seemed  foolishly  cold 
and  formal.  He  tore  it  up  and  wrote  a  simpler  one. 
It  was  flippant  and  a  little  presumptuous.  He  de 
stroyed  that  and  decided  on  a  single  line: 

"My  DEAR  Miss  BETTY: 

"Can  I  see  you  a  few  minutes  before  leaving  to-night? 

"JOHN   VAUGHAN." 

He  sent  it  and  began  hurriedly  to  dress,  his  mind 
in  a  whirl  of  nervous  excitement.  His  vanity  had 
not  even  paused  to  ask  whether  her  answer  would  be 

188 


THE   AWAKENING 


yes.  He  was  sure  of  it.  The  big  exciting  thing  was 
that  he  had  made  a  thrilling  discovery  in  the  midst 
of  that  insane  panic.  He  was  in  love — for  the  first 
time  in  life  foolishly  and  madly  in  love.  Fighting 
and  elbowing  his  way  through  that  throng  of  des 
perate  terror-stricken  men  and  horses  it  had  come 
to  him  in  a  flash  that  life  was  sweet  and  precious  be 
cause  Betty  Winter  was  in  it.  The  more  he  thought 
of  it  the  more  desperate  became  his  determination 
not  to  be  killed  until  he  could  see  and  tell  her.  Through 
every  moment  of  his  wild  scramble  through  woods  and 
fields  and  crowded  road,  up  that  tree  and  down  again, 
his  heart  was  beating  her  name: 

"Betty — Betty — Betty!" 

What  a  blind  fool  he  had  been  not  to  see  it  before! 
She,  too,  had  been  blind.  It  was  all  clear  now — this 
mysterious  power  that  had  called  them  from  the  first, 
neither  of  them  knowing  or  understanding. 

When  Betty  took  his  note  from  the  maid's  hand 
her  eyes  could  see  nothing  for  a  moment.  She  turned 
away  that  Peggy  should  not  catch  her  white  face. 
She  knew  instinctively  the  message  was  from  John 
Vaughan.  It  may  have  been  written  with  his  last 
breath  and  sent  by  a  friend.  She  broke  the  seal 
with  slow,  nervous  dread,  looked  quickly,  and  laughed 
aloud  when  she  had  read,  a  joyous,  half  hysterical 
little  laugh. 

"The  man's  waiting  for  an  answer,  Miss,"  the  maid 
said. 

Betty  looked  at  her  stupidly,  and  blushed: 

"Why,  of  course,  Peggy,  in  a  moment  tell  him." 

She  wrote  half  a  page  in  feverish  haste,  telling 
him  how  happy  she  was  to  know  that  he  had  safely 

189 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


returned,  read  it  over  twice,  flushed  with  anger  at  her 
silly  confusion  and  tore  it  into  tiny  bits.  She  tried 
again,  but  afraid  to  trust  herself,  spread  John's  note 
out  and  used  it  for  a  model, 

"My  DEAR  MR.  VAUGHAN: 

"Certainly,  as  soon  as  you  can  call. 

"BETTY  WINTER/' 

And  then  she  sat  down  by  her  window  and  listened 
to  the  splash  of  the  rain  against  the  glass,  counting 
the  minutes  until  he  should  ring  her  door  bell. 

And  when  at  last  he  came,  she  had  to  stand  before 
her  clock  and  count  the  seconds  off  for  five  minutes 
lest  she  should  disgrace  herself  by  rushing  down 
stairs. 

Their  hands  met  in  a  moment  of  awkward  silence. 
The  play  of  mind  on  mind  had  set  each  heart  pound 
ing.  The  man  of  easy  speech  found  for  the  first  time 
that  words  were  difficult. 

"You've  heard  the  black  news,  of  course,"  he  stam 
mered. 

«Yes " 

Her  eyes  caught  the  haggard  drawn  look  of  his  face 
with  a  start. 

"You  saw  it  all?"  she  asked. 

"I  saw  so  much  that  I  can  never  hope  to  forget  it," 
he  answered  bitterly. 

He  led  her  to  a  seat  and  she  flushed  with  the  sudden 
realization  that  he  had  been  holding  her  hand  since 
the  moment  they  met.  She  drew  it  away  with  a  quick, 
nervous  movement,  and  sat  down  abruptly. 

"Was  it  really  as  bad  as  it  looks  to-day?"  she  asked 
with  an  attempt  at  conventional  tones. 

190 


THE  AWAKENING 


"Worse,  Miss  Betty.  You  can't  imagine  the  sicken 
ing  shame  of  it  all.  I  was  never  in  a  battle  before.  I 
wouldn't  mind  repeating  that  experience  at  close  quar 
ters — but  the  panic " 

"The  President  is  the  coolest  and  most  courageous 
man  in  the  country  to-day,"  she  put  in  eagerly.  "It's 
inspiring  to  talk  to  him." 

A  bitter  speech  against  a  Commander-in-Chief  who 
could  allow  himself  to  be  driven  into  a  battle  by  the 
chatter  of  fools  rose  to  his  lips,  but  he  remembered 
her  admiration  and  was  silent.  He  fumbled  at  his 
watch  chain  and  pulled  the  corner  of  his  black  mous 
tache  with  growing  embarrassment.  The  thing  was 
more  difficult  than  he  had  dreamed. 

"I  have  resigned  from  the  paper,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Resigned?"  she  repeated  mechanically. 

"Yes.  I'm  going  back  home  to-night  and  help  raise 
a  company  in  answer  to  the  President's  proclamation." 

The  room  was  very  still.  Betty  turned  her  eyes 
toward  the  window  and  listened  to  the  splash  of  the 
wind  driven  rain. 

"To  your  home  town?"  she  faltered. 

"Yes.     To  Palmyra." 

"Where  your  brother  went  to  raise  a  company  to 
fight  us — strange,  isn't  it?"  Her  voice  had  a  far 
away  sound  as  if  she  were  talking  to  herself. 

"Yes — to  fight  us,"  he  repeated  in  low  tones. 

Again  a  silence  fell  between  them.  He  looked 
steadily  into  her  brown  eyes  that  were  burning  now 
with  a  strange  intensity,  tried  to  speak,  and  failed. 
He  caught  the  gasp  of  terror  in  the  deep  breath  with 
which  she  turned  from  his  gaze. 

"My  chief  was  bitter  against  my  going — I — I  hope 
191 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


you  approve — Miss  Betty?"     He  spoke  with  pauses 
which  betrayed  his  excitement. 
'     "Yes,  I'm  glad " 

She  stopped  short,  turned  pale  and  fumbled  at 
the  lace  handkerchief  she  carried. 

"Every  brave  man  who  loves  the  Union  must  feel 
as  you  do  to-day — and  go — no  matter  how  hard  it 
may  be  for  those  who — for  those  he  leaves  at 
home " 

She  paused  in  embarrassment  at  the  break  she  had 
almost  made,  and  flushed  scarlet. 

He  leaned  close: 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  not  brave,  Miss  Betty.  I  ran  with 
the  rest  of  them  yesterday,  ran  like  a  dog  for  my 
life" — he  paused  and  caught  his  breath — "but  I'm 
not  sorry  for  it  now.  In  the  madness  of  that  scramble 
to  save  my  skin  I  had  a  sudden  revelation  of  why  life 
was  sweet " 

He  stopped  and  she  scarcely  breathed.  Her  heart 
seemed  to  cease  beating.  Her  dry  lips  refused  to 
speak  the  question  she  would  ask.  The  sweet  mo 
ment  of  pain  and  of  glory  had  come.  She  felt  his 
trembling  hand  seize  her  ice-cold  fingers  as  he  went 
on  impetuously: 

"Life  was  sweet  because — because — I  love  you, 
Betty." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
He  followed,  whispering: 

"My  own,  I  love  you — I  love  you " 

With  sudden  fierce  strength  he  clasped  her  in  his 
arms  and  covered  her  lips  with  kisses. 

She  lifted  her  trembling  hands: 

"Please — please " 

192 


THE   AWAKENING 


Again  he  smothered  her  words  and  held  her  in  mad 
close  embrace. 

"Let  me  go — let  me  go!"  she  cried  with  sudden 
fury,  thrusting  him  from  her,  breathless,  her  eyes 
blinded  with  tears. 

"Tell  me  that  you  love  me !"  he  cried  with  desperate 
pleading. 

The  splendid  young  figure  faced  him  tense,  quiver 
ing  with  rage. 

"How  dare  you  take  me  in  your  arms  like  that 
without  a  word?"  Her  eyes  were  flashing,  her  breast 
rising  and  falling  with  quick  furious  breathing. 

He  seized  her  hand  and  held  it  with  cruel  force. 
Her  eyes  blazed  and  he  dropped  it.  She  was  thinking 
of  the  scene  with  his  slender  chivalrous  brother.  She 
could  feel  the  soft  kiss  on  the  tips  of  her  fingers  and 
the  blood  surged  to  her  face  at  the  thought  of  this 
man's  lips  pressed  on  hers  in  mad,  strangling  passion 
without  so  much  as  by  your  leave !  She  could  tear  his 
eyes  out. 

He  looked  at  her  now  in  a  hopeless  stupor  of  re 
gret. 

"Forgive  me,  Betty,"  he  faltered.  "I— I  couldn't 
help  it." 

Her  eyes  held  his  in  a  cold  stare: 

"I  suppose  that's  all  any  woman  has  ever  meant  to 
you,  and  you  took  me  for  granted " 

He  lifted  his  hand  in  protest. 

"Please,  please,   Miss  Betty,"  he  groaned. 

"You  may  go  now,"  she  said  with  slow  em 
phasis. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  dazed,  and  a  wave  of 
sullen  anger  slowly  mounted  his  face  to  the  roots  of 

193 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


his  black  tangled  hair,  which  he  suddenly  brushed  from 
his  forehead. 

Without  a  word  he  walked  out  into  the  storm,  his 
jaws  set.  The  door  had  scarcely  closed,  when  the 
trembling  figure  crumpled  on  the  lounge  in  a  flood 
of  bitter  tears. 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE    MAN    ON    HORSEBACK 

Before  the  sun  had  set  on  the  day  of  storm  which 
followed  the  panic  at  Bull  Run,  the  President  had 
selected  and  summoned  to  Washington  the  man  who 
was  to  create  the  first  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic — 
a  man  destined  to  measure  the  full  power  of  his  per 
sonality  against  the  Chief  Magistrate  in  a  desperate 
struggle  for  the  supremacy  of  the  life  of  the  Nation 
itself. 

General  George  Brinton  McClellan,  in  answer  to  the 
summons,  reached  Washington  on  July  the  20th,  and 
immediately  took  command  of  the  Army  of  the  Poto 
mac — or  of  what  was  left  of  it. 

The  President  did  not  make  this  selection  without 
bitter  opposition  and  grave  warning.  He  was  told 
that  McClellan  was  an  aggressive  pro-slavery  Demo 
crat,  a  political  meddler  and  unalterably  opposed  to 
him  and  his  party  on  every  essential  issue  before  the 
people.  These  arguments  found  no  weight  with  the 
man  in  the  White  House.  He  would  ask  but  one  ques 
tion,  discuss  but  one  issue: 

"Is  McClellan  the  man  to  whip  this  new  army  of 
500,000  citizens  into  a  mighty  fighting  machine  and 
level  it  against  the  Confederacy?" 

The  all  but  unanimous  answer  was: 

"Yes." 

195 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Then  I'll  appoint  him,"  was  the  firm  reply.  "I 
don't  care  what  his  religion  or  his  politics.  The  ques 
tion  is  not  whether  I  shall  save  the  Union — but  that 
the  Union  shall  be  saved.  My  future  and  the  future 
of  my  party  can  take  care  of  themselves — if  they 
can't,  let  them  die !" 

The  new  Commander  was  a  man  of  striking  and 
charming  personality,  but  thirty-four  years  old,  and 
graduated  from  West  Point  in  1846.  He  had  served 
with  distinction  in  the  war  against  Mexico,  studied 
military  science  in  Europe  under  the  great  generals 
in  command  at  the  Siege  of  Sebastopol,  and  had 
achieved  in  West  Virginia  the  first  success  won  in 
the  struggle  with  the  South.  He  had  been  opposed  in 
West  Virginia  by  General  Robert  E.  Lee,  the  man  of 
destiny  to  whom  the  President,  through  General  Scott, 
had  offered  the  command  of  the  Union  army  before 
Lee  had  drawn  his  sword  for  Virginia.  He  was  a 
past  master  of  the  technical  science  of  engineering, 
defense  and  military  drill. 

In  spite  of  his  short  physical  stature,  he  was  of 
commanding  appearance.  On  horseback  his  figure  was 
impressively  heroic.  It  took  no  second  glance  to  see 
that  he  was  a  born  leader  of  men. 

On  the  first  day  of  his  active  command  he  had  al 
ready  conceived  the  idea  that  he  was  a  man  of 
destiny.  He  wrote  that  night  to  his  wife : 

"I  find  myself  in  a  new  and  strange  position  here — 
President,  Cabinet,  General  Scott  and  all  deferring  to 
me.  By  some  strange  operation  of  magic,  I  seem  to 
have  become  the  power  of  the  land " 

Three  days  later  he  wrote  again  of  his  sensational 
reception  in  the  Senate  Chamber: 

196 


THE   MAN   ON   HORSEBACK 

"I  suppose  half  a  dozen  of  the  oldest  members  made 
the  remark  I  am  becoming  so  much  used  to: 

"  'Why  how  young  you  look  and  yet  an  old  soldier !' 

"They  give  me  my  way  in  everything,  full  swing 
and  unbounded  confidence.  All  tell  me  that  I  am  held 
responsible  for  the  fate  of  the  Nation,  and  that  all  its 
resources  shall  be  placed  at  my  disposal.  It  is  an  im 
mense  task  that  I  have  on  my  hands,  but  I  believe  I 
can  accomplish  it.  When  I  was  in  the  Senate.  Cham 
ber  to-day  and  found  those  old  men  flocking  mround 
me ;  when  I  afterward  stood  in  the  library  looking  over 
the  Capital  of  a  great  Nation,  and  saw  the  crowd 
gathering  to  stare  at  me,  I  began  to  feel  how  great 
the  task  committed  to  me.  How  sincerely  I  pray  God 
that  I  may  be  endowed  with  the  wisdom  and  courage 
necessary  to  accomplish  the  work.  Who  would  have 
thought  when  we  were  married,  that  I  should  so  soon 
be  called  upon  to  save  my  country?" 

Nor  was  McClellan  the  only  man  who  saw  this 
startling  vision.  He  made  friends  with  astounding 
rapidity,  and  held  men  to  him  with  hooks  of  steel. 

With  utter  indifference  to  his  own  fame  or  future, 
the  President  joined  the  public  in  praise  of  the  com 
ing  star.  The  big  heart  at  the  White  House  rejoiced 
in  the  strength  of  his  Commanding  General.  But  the 
man  who  measured  the  world  by  the  fixed  standards 
of  an  exact  science  had  no  powers  of  adjustment  to  the 
homely  manners,  simple  unconventional  ways,  and 
whimsical  moods  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

McClellan's  one  answer  to  all  inquiries  about  his 
relation  to  the  Chief  Executive  was: 

"The  President  is  honest  and  means  well!" 

The  smile  that  played  about  the  corners  of  his  fine,, 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


keen,  blue  eyes  when  he  said  this  left  no  doubt  in 
the  mind  of  his  hearer  as  to  his  real  opinion  of  the 
poor  country  lawyer  who  had  by  accident  been  placed 
in  the  White  House. 

And  so  the  inevitable  happened.  The  suggestions 
of  the'  President  and  his  War  Department  were  early 
resent' ij  as  meddling  with  affairs  which  did  not  con- 

rU< 

cern  f      n. 

Ti;0  ^resident  saw  with  keen  sorrow  that  there  were 
brewiiw  schemes  behind  the  compelling  blue  eyes  of 
the  "Napoleon"  he  had  created.  The  talk  of  McClel- 
lan's  aspirations  to  a  military  dictatorship,  which 
would  include  the  authority  of  the  Executive  and  the 
Legislative  branches  of  the  Government,  had  been  cur 
rent  for  more  than  two  months.  His  recent  manner 
and  bearing  had  given  color  to  these  reports. 

The  splendor  and  ceremony  of  his  headquarters 
*  could  not  have  been  surpassed  by  Alexander  or  Na 
poleon.  His  growing  staff  already  included  a  Prince 
of  the  Royal  Blood,  the  distinguished  son  of  the  Em 
peror  of  France,  and  the  Comte  de  Paris  his  attend 
ant.  His  baggage  train  was  drawn  by  one  hundred 
magnificent  horses  perfectly  matched,  hitched  in  teams 
of  four  to  twenty-five  glittering  new  vans.  His  Grand 
Army  spread  over  mile  after  mile  of  territory  far  back 
into  the  hills  of  Virginia.  The  autumnal  days  were 
brilliant  with  fresh  uniforms,  stars,  sabres,  swords, 
spurs,  plate,  dinners,  wines,  cigars,  the  pomp  and 
pride  and  glory  of  war. 

Men  stood  in  little  groups  and  discussed  in  whis 
pers  the  significance  of  his  continued  stay  in  the 
Capital. 

"If  the  President  has  any  friends,  the  hour  has 
198 


THE   MAN   ON   HORSEBACK 

come  when  they've  got  to  stand  by  him !"  The  speaker 
was  a  man  of  fifty,  a  foreigner  who  had  made  Wash 
ington  his  home  and  liked  Lincoln. 

"Nonsense,  my  dear  fellow,"  a  tall  Westerner  re 
plied,  "we  may  have  to  get  a  few  rifles  and  guard 
the  White  House  from  somebody's  attempt  to  occupy 
it,  but  we'll  not  need  any  big  guns."  a; 

"If  you'd  heard  the  talk  last  night,"  the  signer 
replied,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulder,  "you'  <  Change 
your  mind "  v! 

The  Westerner  shook  his  head:  *t* 

"No!  The  General's  not  that  big  a  fool--  i  the 
men  around  him  have  better  sense.  And  they 
haven't — if  they  all  should  go  crazy — it  cou  Sj  't  be 
done.  They  couldn't  control  the  army." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  army  cheer  as  'Little  Mac' 
rides  along  the  line?" 

"Yes,  but  it  don't  mean  an  Emperor  for  all 
that " 

"I'm  not  so  sure!" 

And  there  were  men  of  National  reputation  who 
considered  the  chances  of  the  man  on  horseback  good 
at  this  moment.  Such  a  man  had  openly  attached  him 
self  to  the  General  as  his  attorney — no  less  a  person 
age  than  the  distinguished  Attorney  General  of  the 
late  Cabinet,  Edwin  M.  Stanton.  During  the  closing 
days  of  Buchanan's  crumbling  administration  Stanton 
had  become  the  dominating  force  of  the  Capital.  His 
daring  and  his  skill  had  defeated  the  best  laid  schemes 
of  the  Southern  party  and  broken  its  grip  on  the  ad 
ministration.  He  had  remained  in  Washington  as  a 
lawyer  practicing  before  the  Supreme  Court  and  had 
become  the  most  aggressive  observer  and  critic  of  Lin- 

199 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


coin  and  his  Cabinet.  His  scorn  for  the  President 
knew  no  bounds. 

"No  one,"  he  wrote  to  General  John  A.  Dix,  "can 
imagine  the  deplorable  condition  of  this  city  and  the 
hazard  of  the  Government,  who  did  not  witness  the 
weakness  and  the  panic  of  the  administration  and  the 
painful  imbecility  of  Lincoln." 

To  Buchanan,  his  ex-Chief,  he  wrote: 

"A  strong  feeling  of  distrust  in  the  candor  and 
sincerity  of  Lincoln's  personality  and  of  his  Cabinet 
has  sp^rig  up.  It  was  the  imbecility  of  this  adminis 
tration  ^vhich  culminated  in  the  catastrophe  of  Bull 
Run.  Irretrievable  misfortune  and  National  disgrace 
never  to  be  forgotten  are  to  be  added  to  the  ruin  of 
all  peaceful  pursuits  and  National  bankruptcy  as  the 
result  of  Lincoln's  running  the  machine  for  five  months. 
Jefferson  Davis  will  soon  be  in  possession  of  Wash 
ington." 

Not  only  in  letters  to  the  leaders  of  public  opinion 
in  the  Nation  did  the  aggressive  and  powerful  lawyer 
seek  to  destroy  the  Government,  but  in  his  conversa 
tion  in  Washington  he  was  equally  daring,  venomous 
and  personal  in  his  abuse  of  the  President.  "A  low, 
cunning  clown"  and  "the  original  gorilla"  were  his 
choice  epithets. 

Stanton's  influence  over  McClellan  was  decided  and 
vital  from  the  moment  of  their  introduction.  It  was 
known  among  the  General's  intimate  friends  that  he 
had  advised  again  and  again  that  he  use  his  power 
as  Commander  of  the  Army  to  declare  a  Dictatorship, 
depose  the  President  and  dissolve  the  sittings  of  Con 
gress  until  the  war  should  be  ended. 

How  far  McClellan  had  dallied  with  this  dangerous 
200 


THE   MAN   ON   HORSEBACK 

and  alluring  scheme  was  a  matter  of  conjecture.  It 
is  little  wonder  that  the  wildest  rumors  of  intrigues, 
of  uprisings,  of  mutiny,  filled  the  air. 

McClellan  had  doggedly  refused  either  to  move  his 
army  or  to  formally  go  into  winter  quarters  until  the 
middle  of  December,  when  he  took  to  his  bed  and 
announced  that  he  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of 
typhoid  fever. 

The  President  was  further  embarrassed  by  the 
course  of  his  Secretary  of  War,  Cameron,  who,  while 
laboring  under  the  censure  of  Congress  for*ftie  con 
duct  of  his  office,  had  allowed  Senator  Winter  to  stab 
his  chief  in  the  back  by  recommending  in  his  report 
that  the  slaves  be  armed  by  the  Government  and  put 
into  the  ranks  of  the  armies.  Senator  Winter,  as 
the  Radical  leader,  knew  that  to  meet  such  an  issue 
once  raised  the  President  must  rebuke  his  Secretary 
and  apologize  to  the  Border  Slave  States.  He  would 
thus  alienate  from  his  support  all  Cameron's  friends, 
and  all  friends  of  the  negro.  The  Senator  did  not 
believe  the  President  would  dare  to  fight  on  such  an 
issue. 

He  had  misjudged  his  man.  The  President  not  only 
rebuked  his  Secretary  by  suppressing  his  report  and 
revising  its  language,  he  demanded  and  received  his 
resignation,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Cameron 
was  the  most  powerful  politician  in  the  most  powerful 
State  of  the  North. 

He  at  once  sought  a  new  Secretary  of  War,  free 
from  all  party  entanglements,  who  could  not  be  in 
fluenced  by  contractors  or  jobbers  or  scheming  poli 
ticians,  who  was  absolutely  honest  and  who  had  a 
boundless  capacity  for  work. 

201 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Strangely  enough,  his  eye  rested  on  Edward  M. 
Stanton,  his  arch  enemy,  the  man  who  had  become 
McClellan's  confidential  attorney. 

As  an  aggressive  patriotic  Democrat,  Stanton  had 
won  the  confidence  of  the  public  in  the  last  administra 
tion.  His  capacity  for  work  had  proved  limitless. 
He  was  under  no  obligations  to  a  living  soul  who  could 
ask  aught  of  Lincoln's  administration.  He  was 
savagely  honest.  At  the  moment  the  discovery  of 
gigantic  frauds  practiced  on  the  War  Department  by 
thieving  contractors,  coupled  with  fabulous  expendi 
tures  in  daily  expenses,  had  destroyed  the  confidence 
of  the  money  lenders  in  the  integrity  of  the  Govern 
ment.  The  Treasury  was  facing  a  serious  crisis. 

And  then  the  astounding  thing  happened.  Without 
consulting  a  soul  inside  his  Cabinet  or  out,  Abraham 
Lincoln  appointed  his  bitterest  foe  from  the  party  of 
his  enemies  his  Secretary  of  War.  He  offered  the 
place  to  Edwin  M.  Stanton. 

Perhaps  the  most  astonished  man  in  America  was 
Stanton  himself.  To  the  amazement  of  his  friends,  as 
well  as  his  critics,  he  promptly  accepted  the  position. 

Senator  Winter,  whose  radical  temperament  had 
found  in  Stanton  a  congenial  spirit,  though  as  wide 
as  the  poles  apart  in  politics,  met  him  in  the  lobby 
of  the  Senate  Chamber  on  the  day  his  appointment 
was  confirmed. 

He  broke  into  a  cynical  laugh  and  asked: 

"And  what  will  you  do?" 

Stanton's  keen  spectacled  eyes  bored  him  through 
in  silence  as  he  snapped: 

?      "I  may  make  Abe  Lincoln  President  of  the  United 
States." 

202 


THE  MAN   ON  HORSEBACK 

Evidently  another  man  was  entering  the  Cabinet 
under  the  impression  that  the  hands  of  an  impotent 
Chief  Magistrate  needed  strengthening.  The  merest 
glance  at  this  man's  burly  thick  set  body,  his  big 
leonine  head  with  its  shock  of  heavy  black  hair,  long1 
and  curling,  his  huge  grizzly  beard  and  full  resolute 
lips,  was  enough  to  convince  the  most  casual  observer 
that  he  could  be  a  dangerous  enemy  or  a  powerful  ally. 

The  President  was  warned  of  this  appointment,  but 
his  confidence  was  unshaken.  His  reply  was  a  revela.- 
tion  of  personality: 

"I  have  faith  in  affirmative  men  like  Stanton.  They 
stand  between  a  nation  and  perdition.  He  has  shown 
a  loyalty  to  the  Union  that  rose  above  his  own  par 
tisan  creed  of  a  lifetime.  I  like  that  kind  of  a  man." 

"He'll  run  away  with  the  whole  concern,"  was  his 
friend's  laconic  reply. 

The  President's  big  generous  mouth  moved  with  a 
smile : 

"Well,  we  may  have  to  treat  him  as  they  sometimes 
did  a  Methodist  minister  I  knew  out  West.  He  was 
a  mighty  man  in  prayer  and  exhortation.  At  times 
his  excitement  rose  to  such  threatening  heights  the 
elders  put  brick  bats  in  his  pockets  to  hold  him  down. 
We  may  be  obliged  to  serve  Stanton  the  same  way " 

He  paused  and  laughed. 

"But  I  guess  we'll  let  him  jump  awhile  first!" 

The  men  who  knew  the  inner  secrets  of  Stanton's 
relations  to  McClellan  watched  this  drama  with  keen 
interest.  Had  he  gone  into  the  Cabinet  to  place  the 
General  in  supreme  power  in  a  moment  of  crisis?  Or 
had  he  at  heart  deserted  the  Commander  with  the 
intention  of  using  the  enormous  power  of  the  War 

203 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Department  to  further  a  scheme  of  equal  daring  for 
himself?  They  could  only  watch  the  swiftly  moving 
scenes  of  the  war  pageant  for  their  answer. 

One  fact  was  standing  out  each  day  with  sharp 
and  clean  cut  distinctness,  a  struggle  of  giants  was 
on  beneath  the  surface.  Startling  surprise  had  fol 
lowed  startling  surprise  during  the  past  months.  Men 
everywhere  were  asking  one  another,  what  next?  The 
air  of  Washington  was  foul  with  the  breath  of  passion 
and  intrigue.  Purposes  and  methods  were  everywhere 
assailed.  Men  high  in  civil  life  were  believed  to  be 
plotting  with  military  conspirators  to  advance  their 
personal  fortunes  on  the  ruins  of  the  Republic. 

Around  two  men  were  gathering  the  forces  whose 
clash  would  decide  the  destiny  of  the  Nation — the 
struggle  between  the  supremacy  of  civil  authority  in 
the  President,  and  the  war-created  strength  of  the 
Military  Commander  represented  by  McClellan.  Could 
the  Republic  survive  this  war  within  a  war? 


CHAPTER    XH 

LOVE    AND    PRIDE 

Betty  Winter  had  found  her  fierce  resolution  to 
blot  John  Vaughan  from  her  life  a  difficult  one  to  keep. 
The  first  two  weeks  were  not  so  hard.  Every  instinct 
of  her  pure  young  girlhood  had  cried  out  against  the 
conceit  which  had  imagined  her  conquest  so  easy.  The 
memory  of  his  arms  about  her  crushing  with  cruel 
force,  his  hot  lips  on  hers  in  mad,  unasked  kisses 
brought  the  angry  blood  mounting  to  her  cheeks.  She 
walked  the  floor  in  rage  and  dropped  at  last  exhausted : 

"I  could  kill  him!" 

The  memory  which  stung  deepest  was  the  terror  she 
had  felt  in  his  arms — the  sudden  fear  of  the  brute 
quivering  in  tense  muscles  and  throbbing  in  passionate 
kisses.  She  had  thought  this  man  a  gentleman.  In 
that  flash  of  self-revealing  he  was  simply  a  beast.  It 
had  unsettled  her  whole  attitude  toward  life.  For 
the  first  time  she  began  to  suspect  the  darker  side 
of  passion.  If  this  were  love,  she  would  have  none 
of  it. 

Again  she  resolved  for  the  hundredth  time,  to  banish 
the  last  thought  of  him.  If  there  were  no  cleaner,  more 
chivalrous  men  in  the  world  she  could  live  without 
them.  But  there  were  men  with  holier  ideals.  Ned 
Vaughan  was  one.  She  drew  from  the  drawer  the 
only  letter  she  had  received  from  him  and  the  last  she 

205 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


would  probably  get  in  many  a  day,  as  he  had  crossed 
the  dead  line  of  war  and  was  now  somewhere  in  the 
i.  great  silent  South.     She  read  it  over  and  over  with 
tender  smiles: 

"DEAR  Miss  BETTY: 

"I  can't  disappear  behind  the  battle  lines  without  a 
last  word  to  you.  I  just  want  to  tell  you  that  every  hour, 
waking  or  dreaming,  the  memory  of  you  is  my  inspiration. 
The  hardest  task  is  easy  because  my  heart  is  beating  with 
your  name  with  every  stroke.  For  me  the  drums  throb  it, 
the  bugle  calls  it.  I  hear  it  in  the  tramp  of  soldiers,  the 
rumble  of  gun,  the  beat  of  horses'  hoofs  and  the  rattle  of 
sabre, — for  I  am  fighting  my  way  back,  inch  by  inch,  hour 
by  hour,  to  you,  my  love ! 

"You  cannot  answer  this.  There  will  be  no  more  mails 
from  the  South — no  more  mails  from  the  North  until  I 
see  you  again  on  the  Capitol  Hill  in  Washington.  There 
has  never  been  a  doubt  in  my  heart  that  the  South  shall 
win — that  I  shall  win.  And  when  I  stand  before  you  then 
it  will  not  be  as  conqueror,  though  victorious.  I  shall 
<Jbow  at  your  feet  your  willing  slave.  And  I  shall  kiss  my 
chains  because  your  dear  hands  made  them.  I  can  expect 
no  answer  to  this.  I  ask  none.  I  need  none.  My  love  is 
enough.  It's  so  big  and  wonderful  it  makes  the  world 
glorious. 

"NED." 

How  sharp  and  bitter  the  contrast  between  the  soul 
of  this  chivalrous  boy  and  his  vain  conceited  brother! 
She  loathed  herself  for  her  blind  stupidity.  Why 
had  she  preferred  him?  Why — why — why!  The  very 
question  cut  her.  It  was  not  because  John  Vaughan 
had  chosen  to  cast  his  lot  with  her  people  of  the  North. 
Rubbish!  She  had  a  sneaking  admiration  for  Ned 

206 


LOVE  AND   PRIDE 


because  he  had  dared  her  displeasure   in  making  his 
choice.    There  must  be  something  perverse  in  her  some 
where.     She  could  see  it  now.    It  must  be  so  or  the  evil  * 
in  John  Vaughan's   character  would  not  have  drawn 
her  as  a  magnet  from  the  first.     She  hadn't  a  doubt 
now  that  all  the  stories  about  his  fast  life  and  his  con-  ^ 
tempt  for  women  were  true  and  much  more  than  gossip 
had  dreamed. 

He  would  write  a  letter  of  apology,  of  course,  in 
due  season.  He  was  too  shrewd  a  man  of  the  world, 
too  skillful  an  interpreter  of  the  whims  of  women  to 
write  at  once.  He  was  waiting  for  her  to  cool — wait 
ing  until  she  should  begin  to  be  anxious.  It  was  too 
transparent.  She  would  give  him  a  surprise  when  his 
letter  came.  The  shock  would  take  a  little  of  the 
conceit  out  of  him.  She  would  return  his  letter  un 
opened  by  the  next  mail. 

When  four  weeks  passed  without  a  word  the  first 
skirmish  between  love  and  pride  began.  Perhaps  she 
had  been  unreasonable  after  all.  Was  it  right  to  blame 
a  man  too  harshly  for  being  mad  about  the  woman 
he  loved?  In  her  heart  of  hearts  did  she  desire  any 
other  sort  of  lover?  Tears  of  vexation  came  in  spite 
of  every  effort  to  maintain  her  high  position.  She 
had  to  face  the  plain  truth.  She  didn't  desire  a  cold 
lover.  She  wished  him  to  be  strong,  manly,  masterful —  /* 
yes,  masterful,  that  was  it — yet  infinitely  tender.  This 
man  was  simply  a  brute.  And  yet  the  memory  of  his 
mad  embrace  and  the  blind  violence  of  his  kisses  had 
become  each  day  more  vivid  and  terrible — terrible  be 
cause  of  their  fascination.  She  accepted  the  fact  at 
last  in  a  burst  of  bitter  tears. 

And  then  came  the  announcement  in  the  Daily  Re- 
207 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


publican  of  his  return  to  the  city  and  his  attachment 
to  the  company  of  cavalry  at  McClellan's  head 
quarters.  The  thought  of  his  presence  sent  the  blood 
surging  in  scarlet  waves  to  her  face.  There  was  no 
longer  any  question  in  her  mind  that  she  had  wounded 
him  too  deeply  for  forgiveness.  Her  dismissal  had 
been  so  cold,  so  curt,  it  had  been  an  accusation 
of  dishonor.  She  could  see  it  clearly  now.  He  had 
poured  out  his  confession  of  utter  love  in  a  torrent 
of  mad  words  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms  without 
thought  or  calculation,  an  act  of  instinctive  resistless 
impulse.  He  had  justly  resented  the  manner  in  which 
she  had  repulsed  him.  Yet  she  had  simply  followed 
the  impulse  of  her  girlish  heart,  and  she  would  die 
sooner  than  apologize. 

She  accepted  the  situation  at  last  with  a  dull  sense 
of  pain  and  despair,  and  tried  to  find  consolation  in 
devotion  to  work  in  the  hospitals  which  had  begun  to 
grow  around  the  army  of  drilling  volunteers. 

Events  were  moving  now  with  swift  march,  and  her 
championship  of  the  President  gave  her  days  of  ex 
citement  which  brought  unexpected  relief  from  her 
gloomy  thoughts.  She  was  witnessing  the  first  move 
ments  of  the  National  drama  from  the  inside  and  its 
passion  had  stirred  her  imagination.  Her  father's 
growing  hatred  of  Abraham  Lincoln  left  her  in  no 
doubt  as  to  whose  master  hand  had  guided  the  assaults 
on  the  rear  of  his  distracted  administration. 

The  fall  of  Cameron,  the  Secretary  of  War,  had 
been  the  work  of  her  father,  with  scarcely  a  suggestion 
from  without.  The  Abolitionist  had  determined  to 
force  Lincoln  to  free  the  slaves  at  once  or  destroy 
him  and  his  administration.  They  also  were  whisper- 

208 


LOVE  AND   PRIDE 


ing  the  name  of  their  chosen  dictator  who  would  as 
sume  the  reins  of  power  on  his  downfall. 

The  President  was  equally  clear  in  his  determination 
not  to  allow  his  hand  to  be  forced  and  lose  control 
of  the  Border  Slave  States,  whose  influence  and  power 
were  becoming  each  day  more  and  more  essential  to 
the  preservation  of  the  Union.  He  had  succeeded  in 
separating  the  counties  of  Western  Virginia  and  had 
created  a  new  State  out  of  them.  His  policy  of  con 
ciliation  and  forbearance  was  slowly,  but  surely,  weld 
ing  Kentucky,  Missouri  and  Maryland  to  the  Nation. 

Any  tinkering  at  this  moment  with  the  question 
of  Slavery  would  imperil  the  loyalty  of  these  four 
States.  He  held  them  now  and  he  refused  to  listen 
to  any  man  or  faction  who  asked  him  to  loosen  that 
grip. 

The  true  policy  of  the  Radicals,  Senator  Winter 
realized,  was  to  fire  into  the  President's  back  through 
his  generals  in  the  field  in  an  emancipation  crusade 
which  would  work  the  North  into  a  frenzy  of  passion. 
He  had  shrewdly  calculated  the  chances,  and  he  did 
not  believe  that  Lincoln  would  dare  risk  his  career 
on  a  direct  order  revoking  such  a  proclamation. 

General  Hunter  was  the  first  to  accept  the  mutinous 
scheme.  He  issued  a  proclamation  declaring  all  slaves 
within  the  lines  of  the  Union  army  forever  free,  and 
a  wave  of  passionate  excitement  swept  the  North.  The 
quiet  self-contained  man  in  the  White  House  did  not 
wait  to  calculate  the  force  of  this  storm.  He  revoked 
Hunter's  order  before  the  ink  was  dry  on  it. 

Again  Senator  Winter  invaded  the  Executive  of 
fice: 

"You  dare,  sir,"  he  thundered,  "to  thus  spit  in  the 
209 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


face  of  the  millions  of  the  loyal  North  who  are  pour 
ing  their  blood  and  treasure  into  this  war?" 

"I  do,"  was  the  even  answer.  "I  am  the  President 
of  the  United  States  and  as  Commander-in-Chief  of 
its  Army  and  Navy  I  will  not  be  disobeyed  by  my 
subordinates  on  an  issue  I  deem  vital  to  the  Nation's 
existence.  If  in  the  fulness  of  God's  time  an  emancipa 
tion  proclamation  must  be  issued  in  order  to  save  the 
Union,  I  know  my  duty  and  I'll  do  it  without  the  in 
terference  of  any  of  my  generals  in  the  field " 

He  paused  and  glanced  over  the  rims  of  his  spec 
tacles  with  a  sudden  flash  from  his  deep  set  eyes : 

"Do  I  make  myself  clear?" 

Winter's  face  went  white  with  anger  as  he  slowly 
answered : 

"Perfectly.  It  seems  you  have  learned  nothing  from 
the  wrath  with  which  your  sacrifice  of  John  C.  Fre 
mont  to  appease  the  slave  power  was  received?" 

"So  it  seems,"  was  the  laconic  response.  "Fremont 
issued,  without  consulting  me,  his  famous  proclamation 
last  August.  I  saw  your  hand,  Senator,  in  that  clause 
'freeing'  the  slaves  in  the  State  of  Missouri." 

"And  I  warn  you  now,"  the  Senator  growled,  "that 
the  storm  of  indignation  which  met  that  act  was 
nothing  to  one  that  will  break  about  your  head  to 
morrow!  The  curses  of  Fremont's  soldiers  still  ring 
in  your  ears.  The  press,  the  pulpit,  the  platform  and 
both  Houses  of  Congress  gave  you  a  taste  of  their 
scorn  you  will  not  soon  forget.  Thousands  of  sober 
citizens  who  had  given  you  their  support,  whose  votes 
put  you  in  this  office,  tore  your  picture  down  from 
their  walls  and  trampled  it  under  their  feet.  For  the 
first  time  in  the  history  of  the  Republic  the  effigy  of  a 

210 


LOVE   AND   PRIDE 


living  President  was  burned  publicly  in  the  streets  of 
an  American  city  amid  the  jeers  and  curses  of  the  men 
who  elected  him.  Your  sacrifice  of  Fremont  has  made 
him  the  idol  of  the  West.  He  is  to  them  to-day  what 
Napoleon  in  exile  was  to  France.  This  is  a  Government 
of  the  people.  Even  a  President  may  go  too  far  in 
daring  to  override  public  opinion!" 

The  giant  figure  slowly  rose  and  faced  his  opponent, 
erect,  controlled,  dignified: 

"But  the  question  is,  Senator,  who  is  a  better  judge 
of  true  public  opinion,  you  or  I?  It  remains  to  be 
seen.  In  the  meantime  I  must  tell  you  once  more  that 
I  am  not  the  representative  of  a  clique,  or  faction. 
I  am  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  all  the  people — I  am 
going  to  save  this  Union  for  them  and  their  children. 
I  hope  to  live  to  see  the  death  of  Slavery.  That  is 
in  God's  hands.  My  duty  to-day  is  as  clear  as  the 
noonday  sun.  I  can't  lose  the  Border  Slave  States 
at  this  stage  of  the  game  and  save  the  Union — there 
fore  I  must  hold  them  at  all  hazards.  Let  the  heathen 
rage  and  the  people  imagine  vain  things  if  they 
will " 

"Then  it's  a  waste  of  breath  to  talk!"  the  Senator 
suddenly  shouted. 

The  rugged  head  bowed  gracefully: 

"I  thought  so  from  the  first — but  I've  tried  to  be 
polite " 

"Good  day,  sir!" 

"Good  day,  Senator,"  the  President  laughed,  "come 
in  any  time  you  want  to  let  off  steam.  It'll  make 
you  feel  easier  and  it  won't  hurt  me." 

Abraham  Lincoln  knew  the  real  cause  of  public  irri 
tation  and  loss  of  confidence.  The  outburst  of  wrath 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


over  Fremont  was  but  a  symptom.  The  disease  lay 
deeper.  The  people  had  lost  confidence  in  his  War 
Department  through  the  failure  of  his  first  Secretary 
and  the  inactivity  of  the  army  under  McClellan.  He 
had  applied  the  remedy  to  the  first  cause  in  the  dis 
missal  of  Cameron  and  the  appointment  of  Stanton. 
It  remained  to  be  seen  whether  he  could  control  his 
Commanding  General,  or  whether  McClellan  would  con 
trol  the  Government. 

The  situation  was  an  intolerable  one — not  only  to 
the  people  who  were  sacrificing  their  blood  and  money, 
but  to  his  own  inherent  sense  of  honor  and  justice. 
He  had  no  right  to  organize  and  drill  a  mighty  army 
to  go  into  winter  quarters,  drink  and  play  cards,  and 
dance  while  a  victorious  foe  flaunted  their  flag  within 
sight  of  the  Capitol. 

Besides,  the  Western  division  under  two  obscure 
Generals,  Grant  and  Sherman,  had  moved  in  force  in 
mid-winter  and  with  a  mere  handful  of  men  compared 
to  the  hosts  encamped  in  Washington  had  captured 
Fort  Henry  and  Fort  Donelson  and  taken  fourteen 
thousand  prisoners.  The  navy  had  brilliantly  co 
operated  on  the  river,  and  this  fact  only  made  more 
painful  the  disgrace  of  the  Confederate  blockade  of 
the  Capital  by  its  half  dozen  batteries  on  the  banks 
of  the  Potomac. 

The  President  was  compelled  to  test  the  ugly  ques 
tion  of  the  extent  and  power  of  General  McClellan's 
personal  support. 

He  returned  from  a  tour  of  inspection  and  stood 
on  the  hilltop  overlooking  McClellan's  miles  of  tents 
and  curling  camp  fires.  He  turned  to  Mrs.  Lincoln, 
who  had  accompanied  him: 


LOVE   AND   PRIDE 


"You  know  what  that  is?" 

"The  Army  of  the  Potomac,  of  course,  Father." 

"No!"  he  replied  bitterly,  "that's  only  McClellan's 
body  guard — a  hundred  and  eighty  thousand." 

The  General  had  persistently  refused  to  take  any 
suggestion  from  his  superior  as  to  the  movement  of 
his  army.  Would  Lincoln  dare  to  force  the  issue  be 
tween  them  and  risk  the  mutiny  of  this  Grand  Army 
undoubtedly  devoted  to  their  brilliant  young  leader? 
There  were  many  who  believed  that  if  he  dared,  the 
result  would  be  a  coup  d'etat  which  would  place  the 
man  on  horseback  in  supreme  power. 

The  moment  the  President  reached  the  point  where 
he  saw  that  further  delay  would  mean  grave  peril 
to  the  Nation,  he  acted  with  a  promptness  which 
stunned  the  glittering  military  court  over  which  the 
young  Napoleon  presided.  From  the  White  House,  as 
Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy,  he  issued 
a  military  order  for  the  advance  of  McClellan's  forces 
on  Richmond! 

The  idea  of  such  an  order  coming  from  a  back 
woods  lawyer  without  military  training  was  preposter 
ous.  Its  audacity  for  a  moment  stunned  the  Com 
mander  of  all  the  divisions  of  the  army,  but  when  the 
excitement  had  subsided  on  the  day  it  was  done,  Gen 
eral  McClellan,  for  the  first  time,  squarely  faced  the 
fact  that  there  was  a  real  man  in  the  White  House. 

The  issue  was  a  square  one.  He  must  obey  that 
order  or  march  on  the  Capital  with  his  army,  depose 
the  President,  and  declare  a  dictatorship. 

He  decided  to  move  on  Richmond.  He  wrangled  over 
the  route  he  would  take,  but  he  moved,  when  once  in 
motion,  with  remarkable  swiftness. 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Within  two  weeks  a  magnificent  army  of  one  hun 
dred  and  twenty  thousand  men,  fourteen  thousand 
horses,  forty-four  batteries  with  endless  trains  of 
wagons,  supplies,  and  pontoon  bridges  were  trans 
ported  by  water  two  hundred  miles  to  the  Virginia 
Peninsula  without  the  loss  of  a  life. 

The  day  was  a  glorious  one  toward  the  end  of 
March,  when  Betty  stood  on  the  hill  above  Alexandria 
and  watched,  with  heavy  heart,  the  magnificent  pageant 
of  the  embarking  army.  The  spring  was  unusually 
early.  The  grass  was  already  a  rich  green  carpet 
in  the  shaded  lanes.  Jonquils  were  flaming  from  every 
walkway,  the  violets  beginning  to  lift  their  blue  heads 
from  their  dark  green  leaves  and  the  trees  overhead 
were  hanging  with  tassels  behind  which  showed  the 
clusters  of  fresh  buds  bursting  into  leaf. 

The  armed  host  covered  hill  and  plain  and  stretched 
out  in  every  direction  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 
Four  hundred  ships  had  moved  up  the  river  to  receive 
them.  Companies  and  regiments  of  magnificently 
equipped  soldiers  were  marching  to  the  throb  of  drum 
and  the  scream  of  fife.  Thousands  of  cavalrymen,  in 
gay  uniforms,  their  golden  yellow  shining  in  the  sun, 
were  dashing  across  a  meadow  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
The  long  lines  of  infantry  stretched  from  the  hills 
through  the  streets  of  Alexandria  down  to  the  water's 
edge.  Everywhere  the  regimental  bands  were  playing 
martial  music. 

Somewhere  among  those  marching,  cheering,  laugh- 
ing,  shouting  thousands  was  the  man  she  loved,  leaving 
without  a  word. 

An  awkward  private  soldier  passed  with  his  arm 
around  his  sweetheart.  Her  eyes  were  red  and  she 


LOVE  AND   PRIDE 


leaned  close.  They  were  not  talking  any  more.  But 
a  few  minutes  were  left  and  he  must  go — perhaps  to 
die.  Words  had  ceased  to  mean  anything. 

Her  heart  rose  in  fierce  rebellion  against  the  wall 
of  silence  her  pride  had  reared.  A  group  of  magni 
ficently  equipped  young  officers  passed  on  horseback. 
Perhaps  of  General  McClellan's  staff!  She  looked  in 
vain  among  them  for  his  familiar  face.  If  he  passed 
she  would  disgrace  herself — she  felt  it  with  increasing 
certainty.  Why  had  she  come  here,  anyway?  As  well 
tell  the  truth — in  the  vague  hope  of  a  meeting. 

The  quick  beat  of  a  horse's  hoof  echoed  along  the 
road.  She  looked  and  recognized  John  Vaughan!  He 
was  coming  straight  toward  her.  Instinctively  and 
resistlessly  she  moved  to  meet  him. 

She  waved  her  hand  in  an  awkward  little  gesture 
as  if  she  had  tried  to  stop  after  beginning  the  move 
ment.  His  eye  had  been  quick  to  see  and  with  a  grace 
ful  pull  on  his  horse's  bridle  he  had  touched  the  pom 
mel  of  the  saddle,  leaped  to  his  feet,  cap  in  hand,  and 
stood  trembling  before  her. 

"It's  too  good  to  be  true!"  he  exclaimed  breath 
lessly. 

She  extended  her  bare  hand  and  he  held  it  without 
protest.  It  was  trembling  violently. 

"You  were  going  to  leave  without  an  effort  to  see 
me?"  she  asked  in  low  tones. 

"I  was  just  debating  that  problem  when  I  saw  you 
standing  by  the  road,"  he  answered  soberly.  "I  don't 
think  I  could  have  done  it.  It's  several  hours  before 
we  embark.  I  was  just  figuring  on  how  I  could  reach 
you  in  time." 

"Really?"  she  murmured. 
215 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Honestly." 

"Well,  if  you  had  gone  without  a  word,  I  couldn't 
have  blamed  you" — she  paused  and  bit  her  lips — 
"I  was  very  foolish  that  day." 

"It  was  my  fault,"  he  broke  in,  "all  my  fault.  I 
was  a  brute.  I  realized  it  too  late.  I'd  have  eaten 
my  pride  and  gone  back  to  see  you  the  day  I  reached 
Washington  if  I  had  thought  it  any  use.  I  have  never 
seen  such  a  look  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  as  you  gave 
me  that  day,  Miss  Betty.  If  there  had  been  any 
love  in  your  heart  I  knew  that  I  had  killed  it " 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  with  a  tender  smile: 

"I  thought  you  had " 

He  pressed  her  hand  tenderly. 

"But  now?" 

"I  know  that  love  can't  be  killed  by  a  kiss." 

She  stopped  suddenly,  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  and  kissed  him.  He  held  her  close  for  a  moment, 
murmuring : 

"My  sweetheart — my  darling!" 

Through  four  swift  beautiful  hours  they  sat  on  a 
log,  held  each  other's  hands,  and  told  over  and  over 
the  old  sweet  story.  Another  long,  tender  embrace 
and  he  was  gone.  She  stood  on  the  little  wharf,  among 
hundreds  of  weeping  sisters  and  mothers  and  sweet 
hearts,  and  watched  his  boat  drift  down  the  river.  He 
waved  his  handkerchief  to  her  until  the  big  unfinished 
dome  of  the  Capitol  began  to  fade  on  the  distant 
horizon. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    SPIEES    OF    RICHMOND 

To  meet  three  great  armies  converging  on  Rich 
mond  along  the  James  under  McClellan,  from  the 
North  under  McDowell,  and  the  West  by  the  Shenan- 
doah  Valley,  the  South  had  barely  fifty-eight  thousand 
men  commanded  by  Joseph  E.  Johnston  and  eighteen 
thousand- under  Stonewall  Jackson. 

The  Southern  people  were  still  suffering  from  the 
delusion  of  Bull  Run  and  had  not  had  time  to  adjust 
themselves  to  the  amazing  defeats  suffered  at  Fort 
Henry  and  Fort  Donaldson,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
stunning  victory  of  the  Monitor  in  Hampton  Roads, 
which  had  opened  the  James  to  the  gates  of  the  Con 
federate  Capital. 

Jackson  was  ordered  into  the  Shenandoah  Valley 
to  execute  the  apparently  impossible  task  of  holding 
in  check  the  armies  of  Fremont,  Milroy,  Banks  and 
Shields,  and  at  the  same  time  prevent  the  force  of 
forty  thousand  men  under  McDowell  from  reaching 
McCleJlan.  The  combined  forces  of  the  Federal  armies 
opposed  thus  to  Jackson  were  eight  times  greater  than 
his  command.  And  yet,  by  a  series  of  rapid  and  terri 
fying  movements  which  gained  for  his  little  army  the 
title  of  "foot  cavalry,"  he  succeeded  in  defeating,  in 
quick  succession,  each  army  in  detail. 

McDowell  was  despatched  in  haste  to  join  Fre- 
217 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


mont  and  crush  Jackson.  And  while  his  army  was 
rushing  into  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  Jackson  with 
drew  and  quietly  joined  the  army  before  Richmond 
which  moved  to  meet  McClellan. 

Little  Mac,  with  his  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
men,  had  moved  up  the  Peninsula  with  deliberate  but 
resistless  force,  Johnston's  army  retiring  before  him 
without  serious  battle  until  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
lay  within  sight  of  the  spires  of  Richmond.  Faint, 
but  clear,  the  breezes  brought  the  far-off  sound  of 
her  church  bells  on  Sunday  morning. 

The  two  great  armies  at  last  faced  each  other  for 
the  first  clash  of  giants,  McClellan  with  one  hundred 
and  ten  thousand  men  in  line,  Johnston  with  seventy 
thousand  Southerners. 

John  Vaughan  rode  along  the  lines  of  the  Federal 
host  on  the  afternoon  of  May  30th,  to  inspect  and 
report  to  his  Commander.  Through  the  opening  in 
the  trees  the  Confederate  army  could  be  plainly  seen 
on  the  other  side  of  the  clearing.  The  Federal  scouts 
had  already  reported  the  certainty  of  an  attack. 

The  Confederates  that  night  lay  down  on  their 
arms  with  orders  to  attack  at  daylight.  Dark  clouds 
had  swirled  their  storm  banks  over  the  sky  before 
sunset  and  the  heavens  were  opened.  The  rain  fell  in 
blinding  torrents,  until  the  sluggish  little  stream  of 
the  Chickahominy  had  become  a  rushing,  widening, 
treacherous  river  which  threatened  to  sweep  away  the 
last  bridge  McClellan  had  constructed. 

The  Confederate  Commander  was  elated.  The  army 
of  his  enemy  was  divided  by  a  swollen  river.  The  storm 
increased  until  it  reached  the  violence  of  a  hurricane. 
Through  the  entire  night  the  lightning  flashed  and 

218 


THE   SPIRES    OF   RICHMOND 

the  thunder  pealed  without  ceasing.  At  times  the 
heavens  were  livid  with  blinding,  dazzling  light.  Tents 
were  a  mockery.  The  earth  was  transformed  into  a 
vast  morass. 

The  storm  had  its  compensations  for  the  Northern 
army  though  divided.  Its  frightful  severity  had  so 
demoralized  the  Confederates  that  it  was  nearly  noon 
before  General  A.  P.  Hill  moved  to  the  attack. 

The  entrenched  army  was  ready.  The  Union  pickets 
lay  in  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  every  soldier  in  the 
pits  had  been  under  cover  for  hours  awaiting  the 
onset. 

With  a  shout  the  men  in  grey  leaped  from  their 
shelter,  pouring  their  volleys  from  close  charging  col 
umns.  The  rifle  balls  whistled  through  the  woods, 
clipping  boughs,  barking  the  trees,  and  hurling  the 
Federal  pickets  back  on  their  support.  In  front  of 
the  abatis  had  been  planted  a  battery  of  four  guns. 
The  grey  men  had  fixed  their  eyes  on  them.  General 
Naglee  saw  their  purpose  and  threw  his  four  thousand 
men  into  the  open  field  to  meet  them.  Straight  into 
each  other's  faces  their  muskets  flamed,  paused,  and 
flamed  again.  The  Northern  men  fixed  their  bayonets, 
charged,  and  drove  the  grey  line  slowly  back  into  the 
woods.  Here  they  met  a  storm  of  hissing  lead  that 
mowed  their  ranks.  They  broke  quickly  and  rushed 
for  the  cover  of  their  rifle  pits. 

The  grey  lines  charged,  and  for  three  hours  the  earth 
trembled  beneath  the  shock  of  their  continued  assaults. 

Suddenly  on  the  left  flank  of  the  Federal  army  a 
galling  fire  was  poured  from  a  grey  brigade.  The 
movement  had  been  quietly  and  skillfully  executed.  At 
the  same  moment  General  Rodes'  brigade  rushed  on 

219 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


their  front  with  resistless  force.  The  officers  tried  to 
spike  their  guns  and  save  them,  but  were  shot  down 
in  their  tracks  to  a  man.  Their  guns  were  lost,  and  in 
a  moment  the  men  in  grey  had  wheeled  them  and  were 
pouring  a  terrible  fire  on  the  retreating  lines. 

The  Confederates  now  charged  the  Federal  centre, 
and  for  an  hour  and  a  half  the  fierce  conflict  raged — 
charge  and  countercharge  by  men  of  equal  courage 
led  by  dauntless  officers.  The  Union  right  wing  had 
already  been  crumpled  in  hopeless  confusion,  the  centre 
had  yielded,  the  left  wing  alone  was  holding  its 
own.  It  looked  as  if  the  whole  Union  army  on  the 
South  side  of  the  Chickahominy  would  be  wiped  out. 

At  Seven  Pines  Heintzelman  had  made  a  stubborn 
stand.  General  Keyes  saw  a  hill  between  the  lines  of 
battle  which  might  save  the  day  if  he  could  reach  it 
in  time.  He  must  take  men  between  two  battle  lines 
to  do  so.  The  Confederate  Commander,  divining  his 
intention,  poured  a  galling  fire  into  his  ranks  and  be 
gan  a  race  with  him  for  the  heights.  Keyes  won  the 
race  and  formed  his  line  in  the  nick  of  time.  The 
tremendous  fire  poured  down  from  this  new  position 
was  too  much  for  the  assaulting  Southern  column  and 
it  halted. 

The  Confederate  forces  had  forced  the  Federal  lines 
back  two  miles  as  the  river  fog  and  the  darkness 
slowly  rose  and  enveloped  the  field.  General  Johnston 
ordered  his  men  to  sleep  on  the  fields  and  camps  they 
had  captured.  A  minute  later  he  was  hurled  from 
his  horse  by  an  exploding  shell  and  was  borne  from 
the  field  dangerously  wounded.  The  first  day's  strug 
gle  had  ended  in  reverses  for  the  invading  enemy.  The 
Confederates  had  captured  ten  guns,  six  thousand  mus- 

220 


THE   SPIRES   OF   RICHMOND 

kets,  and  five  hundred  prisoners,  besides  driving  Mc- 
Clellan's  forces  two  miles  from  the  opening  battle  lines. 

Between  the  two  smoke-grimed,  desperate  armies 
locked  thus  in  close  embrace  there  could  be  no  truce 
for  burying  the  fallen  or  rescuing  the  wounded.  Over 
the  rain-soaked  fields  and  woods  for  two  miles  behind 
the  Confederate  front  lay  the  dead,  the  dying,  and 
the  wounded,  the  blue  side  by  side  with  their  foes 
in  grey.  Dim  fog-ringed  lanterns  flickered  feebly  here 
and  there  like  wounded  fireflies  over  the  dark  piles  on 
the  ground. 

The  Southern  ambulance  corps  did  its  best  at  its 
new  trade.  Their  long  lines  of  wagons  began  to  creep 
into  Richmond  and  fill  the  hospitals.  Shivering  white- 
faced  women,  wives,  sweethearts,  mothers,  sisters  were 
there  looking  for  their  own,  praying  and  hoping.  All 
day  they  had  shivered  in  their  rooms  at  the  deep  boom 
of  cannon,  whose  thunder  rattled  the  glass  in  the 
windows  through  which  they  gazed  on  the  deserted 
streets.  It  was  the  first  leoron  in  real  war,  this  hand 
to  hand  grip  of  the  two  giants  whose  struggle  must 
decide  the  fate  of  Richmond. 

The  wagons  left  their  loads  and  rattled  back  over 
the  rough  cobble  stones  and  out  on  the  muddy  roads 
to  the  front  again.  The  night  would  be  all  too  short 
for  their  work. 

In  their  field  hospital,  the  surgeons,  with  bare, 
bloody  arms,  were  busy  with  knife  and  saw. 
Boys  who  had  faced  death  in  battle  without  a  tremor, 
now  pale  and  trembling,  watched  the  growing  pile  of 
legs  and  arms.  Alone  in  the  darkness  beyond  the 
voice  or  touch  of  a  loved  hand  they  must  face  this 
awful  thing  and  hobble  through  life  maimed  wrecks. 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


They  looked  over  their  shoulders  into  the  murky 
darkness  and  envied  the  silent  forms  that  lay  there 
beyond  the  reach  of  pain  and  despair.  All  night  the 
grim  tragedy  of  the  knife  and  saw,  and  the  low  moans 
that  still  came  from  the  darkness  of  the  woods! 

Sunday  morning,  the  second  day  of  June,  dawned 
over  the  battle-scarred  earth — an  ominous  day  for  the 
armies  of  the  Republic — for  the  sun  rose  on  a  new 
figure  in  command  of  the  men  in  grey.  Robert  E. 
Lee  had  taken  the  place  of  Joseph  E.  Johnston. 

General  G.  W.  Smith,  second  in  command  when 
Johnston  fell,  had  formed  his  plan  of  battle,  and  the 
new  head  of  the  Confederacy,  with  his  high  sense  of 
courtesy  and  justice,  permitted  his  subordinate  to  di 
rect  the  conflict  for  the  day. 

As  the  sun  rose,  red  and  ominous  through  the  dark 
pine  forest,  General  Smith  quickly  advanced  his  men 
at  Fair  Oaks  Station,  down  the  railroad,  and  fell  with 
fury  on  the  men  in  blue,  who  crouched  behind  the  em 
bankment.  The  men  were  less  than  fifty  yards  apart, 
and  muskets  blazed  in  long  level  sheets  of  yellow  flame. 
No  longer  could  the  ear  catch  the  effect  of  ripping 
canvas  in  the  fire  of  small  arms.  The  roar  was  end 
less.  For  an  hour  and  a  half  the  two  blazing  lines 
mowed  each  other  down  in  their  tracks  without  pause. 
The  grey  at  last  gave  way  and  fell  back  to  the  shelter 
of  their  woods  and  gathered  reinforcements.  The 
Union  lines  had  been  cut  to  pieces  and  suddenly  ceased 
firing  while  their  support  advanced. 

The  roaring  hell  had  died  into  a  strange  ominous 
stillness.  John  Vaughan  had  just  dashed  up  to  the 
embankment  with  orders  from  McClellan  to  hold  this 
position  until  Haskin's  division  arrived.  He  sprang 

222 


THE   SPIRES   OF   RICHMOND 

on  the  embankment  and  looked  curiously  at  the  long 
piles  of  grey  bodies  lying  in  an  endless  row  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach.  Over  the  tree  tops,  faintly  ming 
ling  with  the  low  cry  of  a  dying  boy  of  sixteen,  came 
the  sweet  distant  notes  of  a  church  bell  in  Richmond. 

"God  in  heaven — the  mockery   of  it!"  he  cried. 

A  great  shout  swept  the  blue  lines.  Hooker's  mag 
nificent  division  of  fresh  troops  swept  into  view,  eager 
for  the  fray.  They  rapidly  deployed  to  the  right 
and  left.  In  front  of  them  lay  the  open  blood-soaked 
field,  and  beyond  the  deep  woods  bristling  with  South 
ern  bayonets.  The  new  division  leaped  into  this  open 
field,  with  a  wild  shout,  their  eyes  set  on  the  woods. 
They  paused,  only  to  fire,  and  their  double  quick  be 
came  a  race. 

The  Southern  batteries  followed  and  tore  great 
holes  in  their  ranks.  They  closed  them  with  low  quick 
sullen  orders  sweeping  on.  They  reached  the  edge  of 
the  woods  and  poured  into  its  friendly  shelter.  And 
then  above  the  tops  of  oak  and  pine  and  beech  and 
ash  and  tangled  undergrowth  came  the  soul-piercing 
roar  of  two  great  armies,  fearless,  daring,  scorning 
death,  fighting  hand  to  hand,  man  to  man,  for  what 
they  believed  to  be  right. 

The  people  in  church  turned  anxious  faces  toward 
the  sound.  Its  roar  rang  above  the  sob  of  organ 
and  the  chant  of  choir. 

Bayonet  clashed  on  bayonet,  as  regiment  after  regi 
ment  were  locked  in  close  mortal  combat.  Hour  after 
hour  the  stubborn  unyielding  hosts  held  fast  on  both 
sides.  The  storm  weakened  and  slowly  died  away. 
Only  the  intermittent  crack  of  a  rifle  here  and  there 
broke  the  stillness. 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


There  was  no  shout  of  victory,  no  sweep  of  cheer 
ing  hosts — only  silence.  The  Confederate  General  in 
command  for  the  day  had  lost  faith  in  his  battle  plan 
and  withdrew  his  army  from  the  field.  The  men  in 
blue  could  move  in  and  camp  on  the  ground  they  had 
held  the  day  before  if  they  wished. 

But  there  was  something  more  important  to  do  now 
than  maneuver  for  position  in  history.  The  dead 
and  the  dying  and  wounded  crying  for  water  were 
everywhere — down  every  sunlit  aisle  of  the  forest  they 
lay  in  heaps.  In  the  open  fields  they  lay  faces  up, 
the  scorching  Southern  sun  of  June  beating  piteously 
down  in  their  eyes — the  blue  and  the  grey  side  by 
side  in  death  as  they  fought  hand  to  hand  in  life. 

The  trenches  were  opened  and  they  piled  the  bodies 
in  one  on  top  of  the  other,  where  they  had  fallen. 
They  turned  their  faces  downward,  these  stalwart, 
brave  American  boys  that  the  grave-diggers  might 
not  throw  the  wet  dirt  into  their  eyes  and  mouths. 
O,  aching  hearts  in  far-away  homes,  at  least  you  were 
not  there  to  see ! 

Both  armies  paused  now  to  gird  their  loins  for  the 
crucial  test.  General  Lee  was  in  the  saddle  gather 
ing  every  available  man  into  his  ranks  for  his  opening 
assault  on  McClellan's  host.  Jackson  was  in  the 
Shenandoah  Valley  holding  three  armies  at  bay,  de 
feating  them  in  detail  and  paralyzing  the  efficiency 
of  McDowell's  forty  thousand  men  at  Fredericksburg, 
by  the  daring  uncertainty  of  his  movements. 

The  first  act  of  Lee  was  characteristic  of  his  genius. 
Wishing  to  know  the  exact  position  of  McClellan's 
forces,  and  with  the  further  purpose  of  striking  ter 
ror  into  his  antagonist's  mind  for  the  safety  of  his 


THE   SPIRES   OF   RICHMOND 

lines  of  communication,  he  conceived  the  daring  feat 
of  sending  a  picked  body  of  cavalry  under  the  gallant 
J.  E.  B.  Stuart  completely  around  the  Northern 
army  of  one  hundred  and  five  thousand  men. 

On  June  the  12th,  Stuart  with  twelve  hundred  troop 
ers,  fighting,  singing,  daredevil  riders  to  a  man,  slipped 
from  Lee's  lines  and  started  toward  Fredericksburg. 
The  first  night  he  bivouacked  in  the  solemn  pines  of 
Hanover.  At  the  first  streak  of  dawn  the  men  swung 
into  their  saddles  in  silence. 

Turning  suddenly  to  the  east  he  surprised  and  cap 
tured  the  Federal  pickets  without  a  shot.  In  five  min 
utes  he  confronted  a  squadron  of  Union  cavalry. 
With  piercing  rebel  yell  his  troopers  charged  and 
scattered  their  foes. 

Sweeping  on  with  swift,  untiring  dash  they  struck 
the  York  River  Railroad,  which  supplied  McClellan's 
army,  surprised  and  captured  the  company  of  infantry 
which  guarded  Tunstall's  Station,  cut  the  wires  and 
attacked  a  train  passing  with  troops. 

Riding  without  pause  through  the  moonlit  night  they 
reached  the  Cliickahominy  at  daybreak.  The  stream 
was  out  of  its  banks  and  could  not  be  forded.  They 
built  a  bridge,  crossed  over  at  dawn,  and  the  following 
day  leaped  from  their  saddles  before  Lee's  headquar 
ters  and  reported. 

A  thrill  of  admiration  and  dismay  swept  the  ranks 
of  the  Northern  army  and  started  in  Washington  a 
wave  of  bitter  criticism  against  McClellan.  No  word 
of  reply  reached  the  world  from  the  little  Napoleon. 
He  was  busy  digging  trenches,  felling  trees  and  push 
ing  his  big  guns  steadily  forward  and  always  behind 
impregnable  works.  He  was  a  born  engineer  and  his 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


soul  was  set  on  training  his  great  siege  guns  on  the 
Confederate  Capital. 

On  the  25th  of  June  his  advance  guard  had  pressed 
within  five  miles  of  the  apparently  doomed  city.  His 
breastworks  bristled  from  every  point  of  advantage. 
His  army  was  still  divided  by  the  Chickahominy  River, 
but  he  had  so  thoroughly  bridged  its  treacherous  wat 
ers  he  apparently  had  no  fear  of  coming  results. 

On  June  the  27th  Stonewall  Jackson  had  slipped 
from  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  baffling  two  armies  con 
verging  on  him  from  different  directions,  and  with  a 
single  tiger  leap  had  landed  his  indomitable  little  army 
by  Lee's  side. 

Anticipating  his  arrival,  the  Confederate  general 
had  hurled  Hill's  corps  against  the  Union  right  wing 
under  Porter.  Throughout  the  day  of  the  26th  and 
until  nine  o'clock  at  night  the  battle  raged  with  un 
abated  fury.  The  losses  on  both  sides  were  frightful 
and  neither  had  gained  a  victory.  But  at  nine  o'clock 
the  Federal  Commander  ordered  his  right  wing  to 
retreat  five  miles  to  Gaines  Mill  and  cover  his  with 
drawal  of  heavy  guns  and  supplies.  They  were  ordered 
at  all  hazards  to  hold  Jackson's  fresh  troops  at  bay 
until  this  undertaking  was  well  under  way.  It  was  a 
job  that  called  for  all  his  skill  in  case  of  defeat.  It 
involved  the  retreat  of  an  army  of  one  hundred  thou 
sand  men  with  their  artillery  and  enormous  trains  of 
supplies  across  the  mud-scarred  marshy  Peninsula. 
Five  thousand  wagons  loaded  to  their  utmost  capacity, 
their  wheels  sinking  in  the  springy  earth,  had  to  be 
guarded  and  transported.  His  siege  guns,  so  heavy  it 
was  impossible  to  hitch  enough  horses  to  move  them 
over  roads  in  which  they  sank  to  the  hubs,  had  to  be 

226 


THE   SPIRES   OF  RICHMOND 

saved.  Three  thousand  cattle  were  there,  to  be  guarded 
and  driven,  and  it  was  more  than  seventeen  miles  to 
the  shelter  of  his  gunboats  on  the  James. 

During  the  night  his  wagon  trains  and  heavy  guns 
were  moved  across  the  Chickahominy  toward  his  new 
base  on  the  James. 

The  morning  of  the  27th  dawned  cool  and  serene. 
Under  the  cover  of  the  night  the  silent  grey  army  had 
followed  the  retiring  one  in  blue.  The  Southerners 
lay  in  the  dense  wood  above  Gaines  Mill  dozing  and 
waiting  orders. 

A  balloon  slowly  rose  from  the  Federal  lines  and 
hung  in  the  scarlet  clouds  that  circled  the  sun.  The 
signal  was  given  to  the  artillery  that  the  enemy  lay 
in  the  deep  woods  within  range  and  a  storm  of  shot 
and  shell  suddenly  burst  over  the  heads  of  the  men  in 
grey  and  the  second  day's  carnage  had  begun. 

For  once  Jackson,  the  swift  and  mysterious,  was 
late  in  reaching  the  scene.  It  was  two  o'clock  when 
Hill  again  unsupported  hurled  his  men  on  the  Federal 
lines  in  a  fierce  determined  charge.  Twenty-six  guns 
of  the  matchless  artillery  of  McClellan's  army  threw 
a  stream  of  shot  and  shell  into  his  face.  Never  were 
guns  handled  with  deadlier  power.  And  back  of  them 
the  infantry,  thrilled  at  the  magnificent  spectacle, 
poured  their  hail  of  hissing  lead  into  the  approaching 
staggering  lines. 

The  waves  of  grey  broke  and  recoiled.  A  blue  pall  of 
impenetrable  smoke  rolled  through  the  trees  and  clung 
to  the  earth.  Under  the  protection  of  their  great 
guns  the  dense  lines  of  blue  pushed  out  into  the  smoke 
fog  and  charged  their  foe.  For  two  hours  the  combat 
raged  at  close  quarters.  A  division  of  fresh  troops 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


rushed  to  the  Northern  line,  and  Lee  observing  the 
movement  from  his  horse  on  an  eminence,  ordered  a 
general  attack  on  the  entire  Union  front. 

It  was  a  life  and  death  grapple  for  the  mastery. 
Jackson's  corps  was  now  in  action.  A  desperate  charge 
of  Hood's  division  at  last  broke  the  Union  lines  and 
the  grey  men  swarmed  over  the  Federal  breastworks. 
The  lines  broke  and  began  to  roll  back  toward  the 
bridges  of  the  Chickahominy.  The  retreat  threatened 
to  become  a  rout.  The  twilight  was  deepening  over 
the  field  when  a  shout  rose  from  the  tangled  masses  of 
blue  stragglers  by  the  bridge.  Dashing  through  them 
came  the  swift  fresh  brigades  of  French  and  Meager. 
General  Meager,  rising  from  his  stirrups  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  swung  his  bare  sword  above  his  head,  hurled 
his  troops  against  the  advancing  Confederate  line  and 
held  it  until  darkness  saved  Porter's  division  from 
ruin. 

McClellan's  one  hope  now  was  to  pull  his  army  out 
of  the  deadly  swamps  in  which  he  had  been  caught  and 
save  it  from  destruction.  He  must  reach  the  banks 
of  the  James  and  the  shelter  of  his  gunboats  before 
he  could  stop  to  breathe.  At  every  step  the  charging 
grey  lines  crashed  on  his  rear  guard.  Retreating  day 
and  night,  turning  and  fighting  as  a  hunted  stag, 
he  was  struggling  only  to  escape. 

That  there  was  no  panic,  no  rout,  was  a  splendid 
tribute  to  his  organizing  and  commanding  powers. 
His  army  was  an  army  at  last  in  fact  as  well  as  in 
name — a  compact  and  terrible  fighting  machine.  The 
oncoming  Confederate  hosts  learned  this  to  their  sor 
row  again  and  again  in  the  five  terrible  days  which 
followed. 

228 


THE   SPIRES   OF   RICHMOND 

On  July  1st,  McClellan  reached  the  shelter  of  his 
gunboats  and  intrenched  himself  on  the  heights  of 
Malvern  Hill.  On  its  summit  he  placed  tier  after 
tier  of  batteries  swung  in  crescent  line,  commanding 
every  approach.  Surmounting  those  on  the  highest 
point  he  planted  seven  of  his  great  siege  guns.  His 
army  surrounded  this  hill,  its  left  flank  resting  on 
the  James  and  covered  by  his  gunboats. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  Lee  ordered 
a  general  attack.  The  grey  army  was  floundering 
in  the  mud  in  a  vain  effort  to  reach  its  fleeing  enemy 
in  force.  At  noon  they  were  still  burying  the  dead  on 
the  blood-soaked  field  of  Glendale  where  McClellan's 
gallant  rear  guard  had  stood  until  the  last  wagon  train 
had  safely  arrived  at  Malvern  Hill. 

Ned  Vaughan's  company  had  been  hurried  from  the 
West  to  the  defense  of  Richmond,  and  reached  the  field 
on  the  night  of  the  30th,  too  late  for  the  battle  of 
Glendale,  but  in  time  to  walk  over  its  scarred  soil  in 
the  soft  moonlight  and  get  his  first  glimpse  of  war. 
He  was  yet  to  see  a  battle. 

A  group  of  grey  schoolboy  comrades  were  burying 
one  of  their  number  beneath  a  tall  pine  in  the  edge 
of  an  old  field.  He  joined  the  circle  and  watched 
them.  They  dug  the  grave  with  their  bayonets,  tenderly 
wrapped  the  body  in  the  battle  flag  of  the  South  and 
covered  it  with  their  hands.  One  of  them  recited  a 
beautiful  Psalm  from  memory,  and  not  a  word  was 
spoken  as  they  drew  the  damp  earth  up  into  a  mound. 
A  whip-poor-will  began  his  song  in  the  edge  of  the 
woods  as  he  passed  on. 

A  few  yards  further  a  man  in  grey  was  cutting  a 
forked  limb  into'  a  crutch.  Something  dark  lay  hud- 

229 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


died  on  the  brown  straw.  It  was  a  wounded  man  in 
blue.  The  Southerner  lift*  d  his  enemy,  and  placed 
the  crutch  under  him. 

"Now,  partner,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "you're  all  right. 
You'll  find  the  hospital  down  there  by  them  lights. 
They'll  look  out  for  ye." 

Ned  wondered  vaguely  how  he  would  really  feel  un 
der  his  first  baptism  of  fire.  He  was  only  a  private 
soldier  in  this  company  which  had  been  ordered  East. 
He  had  resigned  from  the  first  he  had  helped  to  raise — 
the  ambitions  and  intrigues  of  its  officers  had  aroused 
his  disgust  and  he  had  taken  a  place  in  the  ranks  of 
the  first  company  sent  to  Virginia.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  he  would  wear  no  signs  of  rank  that  were 
not  fairly  won  on  the  field  of  battle. 

To-morrow  he  was  going  to  face  it  at  short  range. 
Everywhere  were  strewn  canteens,  knapsacks,  broken 
guns  and  blankets.  He  came  suddenly  on  a  trench 
behind  which  the  men  in  blue  had  fought  from  dark 
to  dark.  It  was  full  of  dead  soldiers. 

His  regiment  was  up  before  day  to  move  at  dawn. 
His  company  had  been  assigned  to  a  regiment  of 
veterans  who  had  fought  at  Bull  Run  and  had  been  in 
three  of  the  battles  before  Richmond.  Their  ranks 
were  thin  and  the  Western  boys  were  given  a  royal 
welcome. 

The  seasoned  men  were  in  good  humor,  the  new  com 
pany  serious.  Ned  was  carefully  shaving  by  the 
flickering  light  of  the  camp  fire. 

"What  the  divil  are  you  doin'  that  for?"  his  Irish 
messmate  asked  in  amazement. 

"You  want  to  know  the  truth,  Haggerty?"  Ned 
drawled. 

230 


THE   SPIRES   OF   RICHMOND 

"That's  what  I  want " 

"We're  going  into  our  first  battle,  aren't  we?" 

"Praise  God,  we  are!" 

"And  we  may  come  out  a  corpse?" 

"Yis " 

"I'm  going  to  be  a  decent  one." 

"Ah,  go'long  wid  ye — ye  bloody  young  spalpeen — 
ye' re  no  more  afraid  than  I  am!" 

"Maybe  not,  Haggerty,  but  it's  a  solemn  occasion, 
and  I'm  going  to  look  my  best." 

"Ye'll  live  ter  see  many  a  scrap,  me  bye!" 

"Same  to  you,  old  man!  But  I'm  going  to  be  clean 
for  this  one,  anyhow." 

The  regiment  marched  toward  Malvern  Hill  at  the 
first  streak  of  dawn.  It  was  slow  work.  Always 
the  artillery  ahead  were  sticking  in  the  mud  and  the 
halts  were  interminable. 

The  new  company  grew  more  and  more  nervous : 

"What's  up  ahead?" 

They  asked  it  at  every  halt  the  first  three  hours. 
And  then  their  disgust  became  more  pronounced. 

"What  in  'ell's  the  matter?"  Ned  groaned. 

"Don't  worry,  Sonny,"  an  old  corporal  called, 
"you'll  get  there  in  time  to  see  more  than  you  want." 

The  regiment  reached  the  battle  lines  at  one  o'clock. 
The  morning  hours  had  been  spent  in  driving  in  the 
skirmishers  and  feeling  the  enemy's  positions.  Lee  had 
given  orders  for  a  general  charge  on  a  signal  yell  from 
Armistead's  brigade.  He  was  now  waiting  the  arrival 
of  all  his  available  forces  before  attacking. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  General  D.  H.  Hill  heard 
a  shout  followed  by  a  roar  of  musketry  and  immediately 
ordered  his  division  to  charge.  No  other  General 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


seemed  to  have  heard  it  and  the  charge  was  made  with 
out  support.  It  was  magnificent,  but  it  was  not  war, 
it  was  sheer  butchery.  No  army  could  have  stood  be 
fore  the  galling  fire  of  those  massed  batteries. 

Ned's  regiment  had  deployed  in  a  wood  on  the  edge 
of  a  wide  field  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Their  move 
ment  caught  the  eye  of  a  battery  on  the  heights 
which  opened  with  six  guns  squarely  on  their  heads. 

The  struggling,  shattered  remnants  of  a  regiment 
which  had  been  all  but  annihilated  fell  back  through 
these  woods,  stumbling  against  the  waiting  men. 

Ned  saw  a  soldier  with  a  Minie  ball  sticking  in 
the  centre  of  his  forehead,  the  blood  oozing  from  the 
round,  clean-cut  hole  beside  the  lead.  He  was  walking 
steadily  backward,  loading  and  firing  with  incredible 
rapidity.  The  company  halted  behind  the  troops  held 
in  reserve,  but  the  man  with  the  ball  in  his  forehead 
refused  to  go  to  the  rear.  He  wouldn't  believe  that  he 
was  seriously  hurt.  He  jokingly  asked  a  comrade 
to  dig  the  ball  out.  He  did  so,  and  the  fellow  dropped 
in  his  tracks,  the  blood  gushing  from  the  wound  in 
a  stream. 

The  uncanny  sight  had  sickened  Ned.  He  looked 
at  his  hand  and  it  was  trembling  like  a  leaf. 

And  this  division  was  charging  up  that  awful  hill 
again.  Ned  saw  a  private  soldier  who  belonged  to  one 
of  its  regiments  deliberately  walk  across  the  field 
alone  and  join  his  comrades  as  if  nothing  of  impor 
tance  were  going  on.  And  yet  the  bullets  were  whis 
tling  so  thickly  that  their  "Zip!  Zip!"  on  the  ground 
kept  the  air  filled  with  flying  dirt  and  tufts  of  grass — 
a  veritable  hail  of  lead  through  which  a  sparrow  ap 
parently  couldn't  fly. 


THE   SPIRES   OF  RICHMOND 

The  fellow  was  certainly  a  fool!  No  man  with  a 
grain  of  sense  would  do  such  a  thing  alone — maybe 
with  a  crowd  of  cheering  men,  but  only  a  maniac  could 
do  it  alone — Ned  was  sure  of  that. 

A  shell  smashed  through  the  top  of  a  tree,  clipped 
its  trunk  in  two  and  down  it  came  with  a  crash  that 
sent  the  men  scampering. 

A  solid  shot  came  bounding  leisurely  down  the  hill 
and  rolled  into  the  woods.  A  man  just  in  front  put 
out  his  foot  playfully  to  stop  it  and  it  broke  his  leg. 

The  shriek  of  shell  and  the  whistle  of  lead  increased 
in  terrifying  roar  each  moment  and  Ned  felt  a  queer 
sensation  in  his  chest — a  sort  of  shortness  of  breath. 
In  a  moment  he  was  going  to  bolt  for  the  rear!  He 
felt  it  in  his  bones  and  saw  no  way  to  stop  it.  He 
lifted  his  eyes  piteously  toward  the  Colonel  who  sat 
erect  in  his  saddle  stroking  the  neck  of  a  restless 
horse  with  his  left  hand. 

The  veteran  saw  the  boy's  terror  under  his  trial 
of  fire  and  his  heart  went  out  to  him  in  a  wave  of 
fatherly  sympathy. 

He  rode  quickly  up  to  Ned: 

"Won't  you  hold  my  horse's  bridle  a  minute,  young 
man,  while  I  use  my  glasses?"  he  asked  coolly. 

Ned's  trembling  hand  caught  the  reins  as  a  drown 
ing  man  a  straw.  The  act  steadied  his  shaking  nerves. 
As  the  Colonel  slowly  lowered  his  glasses  Ned  cried 
through  chattering  teeth: 

"D-d-d-on't  y-you  think — I-I-I-  am  d-d-doing  p-pret- 
ty  well,  C-colonel,  f-f-f-for  my  f-f-ffirst  battle?" 

The  Colonel  nodded  encouragingly: 

"Very  well,  my  boy.  It's  a  nasty  situation.  You'll 
make  a  good  soldier." 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


And  then  the  order  to  charge! 

Across  the  level  field  torn  by  shot  and  shell,  the 
regiment  swept  in  grey  waves.  The  gaps  filled  up  si 
lently.  They  started  up  the  hill  and  met  the  sleet  of 
hissing  death.  The  hill  top  blazed  streams  of  yellow 
flame  through  the  pall  of  smoke.  Men  were  falling — 
not  one  by  one,  but  in  platoons  and  squads,  rolling  into 
heaps  of  grey  blood-soaked  flesh  and  rags.  The  regi 
ment  paused,  staggered,  reeled  and  rallied. 

Haggerty  fell  just  in  front  of  Ned,  who  was  loading 
and  firing  with  the  precision  of  a  machine.  If  he  had 
a  soul — he  didn't  know  it  now.  The  men  were  ordered 
to  lie  down  and  fire  from  the  ground. 

Haggerty  caught  Ned's  eye  as  it  glanced  along  his 
musket  searching  for  his  foe  through  the  cloud  of  blue 
black  smoke  that  veiled  the  world. 

"Roll  me  around,  Bye,"  the  Irishman  cried,  "and 
make  a  fince  out  of  me — I'm  done  for." 

Ned  paid  no  attention  to  his  call,  and  Haggerty 
pulled  his  mangled  body  down  the  hill  and  doubled  him 
self  up  in  front  of  his  friend. 

"Keep  down  behind  me,  Bye,"  he  moaned.  "I'll 
make  a  good  fort  for  ye!" 

It  was  useless  to  protest,  he  had  erected  the  fort 
to  suit  himself  and  Ned  was  fighting  now  behind  it. 
The  sight  of  his  dying  friend  steadied  his  nerves  and 
sent  a  thrill  of  fierce  anger  like  living  fire  through  his 
veins.  His  eye  searched  the  hilltop  for  his  foe.  The 
smoke  rolled  in  dark  grey  sulphurous  clouds  down  the 
slope  and  shut  out  the  sky  line.  He  waited  and  strained 
his  bloodshot  eyes  to  find  an  opening.  It  was  no  use 
to  waste  powder  shooting  at  space.  He  was  too  deadly 
angry  now  for  that. 

234 


THE   SPIRES   OF   RICHMOND 

A  puff  of  wind  lifted  the  clouds  and  the  blue  men 
could  be  seen  leaping  about  their  guns.  They  looked 
like  giants  in  the  smoke  fog.  Again  he  fired  and 
loaded,  fired  and  loaded  with  clock-like,  even  steady, 
hand.  It  was  tiresome  this  ramming  an  old-fashioned 
muzzle-loading  musket  lying  flat  on  the  ground.  But 
with  each  round  he  was  becoming  more  and  more  expert 
in  handling  the  gun.  His  mouth  was  black  with 
powder  from  tearing  the  paper  ends  of  the  car 
tridges.  The  sulphurous  taste  of  the  powder  was  in 
his  mouth. 

From  the  centre  of  the  field  rose  the  awful  Con 
federate  yell  again.  A  regiment  of  Georgians,  led  by 
Gordon  were  charging.  Waiting  again  for  the  smoke 
to  clear  in  front  Ned  could  see  the  grey  waves  spread 
out  and  caught  the  sharp  word  of  command  as  the 
daring  young  officers  threw  their  naked  swords  toward 
the  sky  crying: 

"Forward!" 

And  then  they  met  the  storm.  From  grim,  black 
lips  on  the  hill  crest  came  the  answer  to  their  yell — 
three  hundred  and  forty  mighty  guns  were  singing 
an  oratorio  of  Death  and  Hell  in  chorus  now  from 
those  heights.  Half  the  men  seemed  to  fall  at  a  single 
crash  and  still  the  line  closed  up  and  rushed  steadily 
on,  firing  and  loading,  firing  and  loading, — running 
and  staggering,  then  rallying  and  pressing  on  again. 

On  the  right  ten  thousand  men  under  Hill  slipped 
out  into  line  as  if  on  dress  parade — long  lines  of  hand 
some  boyish  Southerners.  The  big  guns  above  saw 
and  found  them  with  terrible  accuracy.  A  wide  lane 
of  death  was  suddenly  torn  through  them  before  they 
moved.  They  closed  like  clock  work  and  with  a  cheer 

235 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


swept  forward  to  the  support  of  the  men  who  were 
dying  on  the  blood-soaked  slope. 

Ned's  heart  was  thumping  now.  He  felt  it  coming, 
that  sharp  low  order  from  the  Colonel  before  the 
words  rang  from  his  lips.  His  hour  had  come  for  the 
test — coward  or  hero  it  had  to  be  now.  It  was  funny 
he  had  ceased  to  worry.  He  had  entered  a  new  world 
and  this  choking,  blinding  smoke,  the  steady  thunder 
of  guns,  the  long  sheets  of  orange  fire  that  flashed 
and  flashed  and  blazed  in  three  rings  from  the  hill,  the 
ripping  canvas  of  musketry  fire  in  volleys,  the  dull 
boom  of  the  great  guns  on  the  boats  below,  were 
simply  a  part  of  the  routine  of  the  new  life.  He  had 
lived  a  generation  since  dawn.  The  years  that  had 
gone  before  seemed  a  dream.  The  one  real  thing  was 
Betty's  laughing  eyes.  They  were  looking  at  him  now 
from  behind  that  flaming  hill.  He  must  pass  those 
guns  to  reach  her.  Not  a  doubt  had  yet  entered  his 
soul  that  he  would  do  it.  Men  were  falling  around 
him  like  leaves  in  autumn,  but  this  had  to  be.  He 
saw  the  end.  No  matter  how  fierce  this  battle,  Mc- 
Clellan  was  only  fighting  to  save  his  army  from  annihi 
lation.  Lee  was  destroying  him. 

The  order  came  at  last.  The  Colonel  walked  along 
in  front  of  his  men  with  bared  head. 

"Now,  boys, — that  battery  on  the  first  crest — we've 
half  their  men — charge  and  take  those  guns !" 

The  regiment  leaped  to  their  feet  and  started  up 
the  hill.  They  had  lost  two  hundred  men  in  their 
first  sweep.  There  were  six  hundred  left. 

"Hold  your  fire  until  I  give  the  word!"  the  Colonel 
shouted. 

The  smoke  was  hanging  low,  and  they  had  made  two 
236 


THE   SPIRES   OF   RICHMOND 

hundred  yards  before  the  blue  line  saw  them  through 
the  haze.  The  hill  blazed  and  hissed  in  their  faces. 
The  massed  infantry  behind  the  guns  found  their 
marks.  Men  dropped  right  and  left,  sank  in  grey  heaps 
or  fell  forward  on  their  faces — some  were  knocked 
backwards  down  the  slope.  Yet  without  a  pause  they 
climbed. 

Three  hundred  yards  more  and  they  would  be  on 
the  guns.  And  then  a  sheet  of  blinding  flame  from 
every  black-mouthed  gun  in  line  double  shotted  with 
grape  and  canister!  The  regiment  was  literally 
knocked  to  its  knees.  The  men  paused  as  if  dazed 
by  the  shock.  The  sharp  words  of  cheer  and  com 
mand  from  their  officers  and  they  rallied.  From  both 
flanks  poured  a  murderous  hail  of  bullets — guns  to 
the  right,  left  and  front,  all  screaming,  roaring,  hiss 
ing  their  call  of  blood. 

The  Colonel  saw  the  charge  was  hopeless  and  or 
dered  his  men  to  fire  and  fall  back  fighting.  The 
grey  line  began  to  melt  into  the  smoke  mists  down  the 
hill  and  disappeared — all  save  Ned  Vaughan.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  on  that  battery  when  the  order  to  fire 
was  given.  He  fired  and  charged  with  fixed  bayonet 
alone.  He  never  paused  to  see  how  many  men  were 
with  him.  His  mind  was  set  on  capturing  one  of  those 
guns.  He  reached  the  breastworks  and  looked  behind 
him.  There  was  not  a  man  in  sight.  A  blue  gunner 
was  ramming  a  cannon.  With  a  savage  leap  Ned  was 
on  the  boy,  grabbed  him  by  the  neck  and  rushed  down 
the  hill  in  front  of  his  own  gun  before  the  astounded 
Commander  realized  what  had  happened.  When  he 
did  it  was  too  late  to  fire.  They  would  tear  both 
men  to  pieces. 

237 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  regiment  had  rallied  in  the  woods  at  the  edge  of 
the  field  from  which  they  had  first  charged. 

Ned  Vaughan  led  his  prisoner,  in  bright  new  uniform 
of  blue,  up  to  the  Colonel  and  reported. 

"A  prisoner  of  war,  sir!" 

The  Colonel  took  off  his  hat  and  gazed  at  the  pair : 

"Aren't  you  the  boy  who  held  my  horse?" 

Ned  saluted: 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  in  the  name  of  Almighty  God,  where  did  you 
get  that  man?" 

Ned  pointed  excitedly  to  the  hilltop: 

"Right  yonder,  sir, — there's  plenty  more  of  'em 
up  there!" 

The  Colonel  scratched  his  head,  looked  Ned  over 
from  head  to  heel  and  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned,"  he  said  at  last.  "Take  him 
to  the  rear  and  report  to  me  to-night.  I  want  to  see 
you." 

Ned  saluted  and  hurried  to  the  rear  with  his  pris 
oner. 

The  sun  was  slowly  sinking  in  a  sea  of  blood.  The 
red  faded  to  purple,  the  purple  to  grey,  the  grey  into 
the  shadows  of  night  and  still  the  guns  were  thun 
dering  from  their  heights.  It  was  nine  o'clock  before 
they  were  silent  and  Lee's  torn  and  mangled  army 
lay  down  among  their  dead  and  wounded  to  wait  the 
dawn  and  renew  the  fight.  They  had  been  compelled 
to  breast  the  most  devastating  fire  to  which  an  assault- 
?.  ing  army  had  been  subjected  in  the  history  of  war. 
The  trees  of  the  woods  had  been  literally  torn  and 
mangled  as  if  two  cyclones  had  met  and  ripped  them  to 
pieces. 

238 


THE   SPIRES   OF   RICHMOND 

The  men  dropped  in  their  tracks  to  snatch  a  few 
hours'  sleep. 

The  low  ominous  sounds  that  drifted  from  the  dark 
ness  could  not  be  heeded  till  to-morrow.  Here  and 
there  a  lantern  flickered  as  they  picked  up  a  wounded 
man  and  carried  him  to  the  rear.  Only  the  desperately 
wounded  could  be  helped.  The  dead  must  sleep  be 
neath  the  stars.  The  low,  pitiful  cries  for  water 
guided  the  ambulance  corps  as  they  stumbled  over  the 
heaps  of  those  past  help. 

The  clouds  drew  a  veil  over  the7  stars  at  midnight 
and  it  began  to  pour  down  rain  before  day.  The  sleep 
ing,  worn  men  woke  with  muttered  oaths  and  stood 
against  the  trees  or  squatted  against  their  trunks  seek 
ing  shelter  from  the  flood.  As  the  mists  lifted,  they 
looked  with  grim  foreboding  but  still  desperate  courage 
to  the  heights.  Every  rampart  was  deserted.  Not 
one  of  those  three  hundred  and  forty  guns  remained. 
McClellan  had  withdrawn  his  army  under  the  cover 
of  the  night  to  Harrison's  Landing. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  tell  whose  men  were  better 
satisfied. 

"Thank  God,  he's  gone  from  there  anyhow!"  the 
men  in  grey  cried  with  fervor. 

Now  they  could  get  something  to  eat,  bury  their 
dead  and  care  for  all  the  wounded.  McClellan's  Pen 
insula  Campaign  had  ended.  His  Grand  Army  had 
melted  from  a  hundred  and  ten  thousand  fighting  men 
in  line  to  eighty-six  thousand.  The  South  had  lost 
almost  as  many. 

From  the  wildest  panic  into  which  the  advance  of  his 
army  had  thrown  Richmond,  the  Confederate  Capital 
now  swung  to  the  opposite  extreme  of  rejoicing  for 

239 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


the  deliverance,  mingled  with  criticism  of  their  lead 
ers  for  allowing  the  Federal  army  to  escape  at  all. 

The  gloom  in  Washington  was  profound. 

An  excited  General  rushed  to  the  White  House  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  roused  the  President  from 
his  bed  and  pleaded  for  the  immediate  dispatch  of 
a  fleet  of  transports  to  Harrison's  Landing  as  the  only 
possible  way  to  save  the  army  from  annihilation. 

The  President  soothed  his  fears  and  sent  him  home. 
He  was  not  the  man  to  be  thrown  into  a  panic.  Yet 
the  incredible  thing  had  happened.  His  army  of  more 
than  two  hundred  thousand  men,  under  able  generals, 
had  been  hurled  back  from  the  gates  of  Richmond  in 
hopeless,  bewildering  defeat,  and  he  must  begin  all  over 
again. 

One  big  ominous  fact  loomed  in  tragic  menace  from 
the  smoke  and  flame  of  this  campaign — the  South  had 
developed  two  leaders  of  matchless  military  genius — 
Robert  E.  Lee  and  Stonewall  Jackson.  It  was  a  fact 
the  President  must  face  and  that  without  fear  or 
favor  to  any  living  man  in  his  own  army. 

He  left  Washington  for  the  front  at  once.  He  must 
see  with  his  own  eyes  the  condition  of  the  army. 
He  must  see  McClellan.  The  demand  for  his  removal 
was  loud  and  bitter.  And  fiercest  of  all  those  who 
asked  for  his  head  was  the  iron-willed  Secretary  of 
War,  Edwin  M.  Stanton,  his  former  champion. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE  RETREAT 

John  Vaughan  had  become  one  of  his  General's 
trusted  aides.  His  services  during  the  month's  terrific 
struggle  had  proven  invaluable.  The  Commander  was 
quick  to  discern  that  he  was  a  man  of  culture  and 
possessed  a  mind  of  unusual  power.  More  than  once 
the  General  had  called  him  to  his  headquarters  to  pour 
into  his  ears  his  own  grievances  against  the  authorities 
in  Washington.  Naturally  his  mind  had  been  embit 
tered  against  the  man  in  the  White  House.  The 
magnetic  personality  of  McClellan  had  appealed  to  his 
imagination  from  their  first  meeting. 

The  General  was  particularly  bitter  on  the  morning 
the  President  was  expected.  His  indignation  at  last 
broke  forth  in  impassioned  words  to  his  sympathetic 
listener. 

The  tragic  consequence  of  the  impression  made  in 
that  talk  neither  man  could  dream  at  the  moment. 

Pacing  the  floor  with  the  tread  of  a  caged  lion 
McClellan  suddenly  paused  and  his  fine  blue  eyes 
flashed. 

"I  tell  you,  Vaughan,  the  wretches  have  done  their 
worst.  They  can't  do  much  more " 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  drew  from  his  pocket  the 
copy  of  a  dispatch  he  had  sent  to  the  war  office.  He 
read  it  carefully  and  looked  up  with  flashing  eyes : 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"I'll  face  the  President  with  this  dispatch  to  Stan- 
ton  in  my  hands,  too.  They  would  have  removed  me 
from  my  command  for  sending  it — if  they  had  dared !" 

He  slowly  repeated  its  closing  words : 

"I  know  that  a  few  thousand  more  men  would  have 
changed  this  battle  from  a  defeat  to  a  victory.  As 
it  is,  the  Government  must  not  and  cannot  hold  me 
responsible  for  the  result.  I  feel  too  earnestly  to 
night.  I  have  seen  too  many  dead  and  wounded  com 
rades  to  feel  otherwise  than  that  the  Government  has 
not  sustained  this  army.  If  you  do  not  do  so  now, 
the  game  is  lost.  If  I  save  this  army  now,  I  tell  you 
plainly  that  I  owe  no  thanks  to  you,  or  to  any  other 
person  in  Washington.  You  have  done  your  best  to 
sacrifice  this  army " 

He  paused  and  his  square  jaws  came  together  firmly. 

"And  if  that  be  treason,  they  can  make  the  most 
of  it!" 

"I  am  curious  to  know  how  he  meets  you  to-day," 
John  said  with  a  smile. 

An  orderly  announced  the  arrival  of  the  President 
and  the  Commanding  General  promptly  boarded  his 
steamer.  In  ten  minutes  the  two  men  were  facing 
each  other  in  the  stateroom  assigned  the  Chief  Magis 
trate. 

Lincoln's  tall,  rugged  figure  met  the  compact  Gen 
eral  with  the  easy  generous  attitude  of  a  father  ready 
to  have  it  out  with  a  wayward  boy.  His  smile  was 
friendly  and  the  grip  of  his  big  hand  cordial. 

"I  am  satisfied,  sir,  that  you,  your  officers  and  men 
have  done  the  best  you  could.  All  accounts  say  that 
better  fighting  was  never  done.  Ten  thousand  thanks, 
in  the  name  of  the  people  for  it." 


THE   RETREAT 


The  words  were  generous,  but  the  commander  put 
in  a  suggestion  for  more. 

"Never,  Mr.  President,"  he  said  emphatically,  "did 
such  a  change  of  base,  involving  a  retrogressive  move 
ment  under  incessant  attacks  from  a  vastly  more  nu 
merous  foe  partake  of  so  little  disaster.  When  all  is 
known  you  will  see  that  the  movement  just  completed 
by  this  army  is  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  war.  We 
have  preserved  our  trains,  our  guns,  our  material,  and, 
above  all,  our  honor." 

"Rest  assured,  General,"  the  quiet  voice  responded, 
"the  heroism  and  skill  of  yourself,  officers  and  men, 
is  and  forever  will  be  appreciated." 

The  President  returned  to  Washington  profoundly 
puzzled  as  to  his  duty.  He  was  alarmed  at  the  display 
of  self  esteem  which  his  defeated  General  had  naively 
made,  and  his  loyalty  was  boldly  and  opened  ques 
tioned  by  his  advisers,  and  yet  he  was  loath  to  remove 
him  from  command.  Down  in  his  square,  honest  heart 
he  felt  that  with  all  his  faults,  McClellan  was  a 
man  of  worth,  that  he  had  never  been  thoroughly 
whipped  in  a  single  battle  and  that  he  hadn't  had  a  fair 
trial. 

Any  other  man  in  power  than  Abraham  Lincoln 
would  have  removed  him  instantly  on  the  receipt  of 
his  insolent  and  insulting  dispatch.  Instead,  the  Presi 
dent  had  gone  to  see  him  with  an  open  mind.  He  re 
turned  determined  to  strengthen  his  military  council 
by  the  addition  of  an  expert  in  Washington  as  his 
Commander-in-Chief. 

He  called  to  this  post  Henry  W.  Halleck.  Al 
though  McClellan  had  waived  the  crown  of  such  power 
aside  with  lofty  words  of  unselfish  patriotism,  he  re- 

243 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


ceived  the  announcement  of  Halleck's  promotion  and 
his  subordination  with  sullen  rage. 

"In  this  thing,"  he  wrote  his  wife,  "the  President 
and  those  around  him  have  acted  so  as  to  make  the 
matter  as  offensive  as  possible  to  me." 

And  yet  against  every  demand  that  McClellan  should 
be  removed  from  command  the  President  was  obdurate. 
Again  and  again  his  friends  urged: 

"McClellan  is  playing  for  the  Presidency." 

The  tall  man  merely  nodded: 

"All  right.  Let  him.  I  am  perfectly  willing  that 
*  he  shall  have  it  if  he  will  only  put  an  end  to  this  war." 

But  if  the  President  refused  to  remove  him  from 
command,  Halleck  and  Stanton  managed  quickly  to 
strip  him  of  half  his  army  by  detaching  and  sending 
it  to  join  the  new  army  of  General  Pope.  McClellan, 
with  the  remainder  of  his  men,  had  been  sent  by  trans 
port  back  to  Alexandria.  General  John  Pope  was 
summoned  from  the  West  to  take  command  of  the  new 
"Army  of  Virginia,"  composed  of  the  divisions  of 
Fremont,  Banks  and  McDowell,  and  the  detached  por 
tion  of  McClellan's  men. 

All  eyes  were  now  centred  on  the  new  Commander. 
The  West  had  only  seen  success — Fort  Henry,  Fort 
Donelson,  Pea  Ridge,  Shiloh,  and  Island  No.  10. 

The  new  General  on  the  day  he  began  his  advance 
against  Lee  and  Jackson  issued  an  address  to  his  army 
which  sent  a  chill  to  the  heart  of  the  President. 

"I  have  come  to  you  from  the  West,"  he  proclaimed, 
"where  we  have  always  seen  the  backs  of  our  enemies — 
from  an  army  whose  business  has  been  to  seek  the 
adversary  and  beat  him  when  found.  I  desire  you  to 
dismiss  from  your  minds  certain  phrases  which  I  am 

244 


THE   RETREAT 


sorry  to  find  much  in  vogue  among  you.  I  hear  con 
stantly  of  'lines  of  retreat'  and  'bases  of  supplies.' 
Let  us  discard  such  ideas.  Let  us  look  before  us, 
not  behind.  From  to-day  my  headquarters  will  be  in 
the  saddle." 

Every  man  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  which  Mc- 
Clellan  had  created  and  fought  with  such  fierce  and 
terrible,  if  unsuccessful  power,  resented  this  address 
as  an  insult.  McClellan  himself  was  furious.  For 
some  reason  only  part  of  the  forces  from  his  army 
which  were  detached  ever  reached  Pope,  and  those 
who  did  were  not  enthusiastic.  It  was  expecting  too 
much  of  human  nature  to  believe  that  they  could  be. 

The  outlook  for  the  coming  battle  was  ominous. 


CHAPTER    XV 

TANGLED   THREADS 

Betty  Winter  received  a  telegram  from  John 
Vaughan  announcing  his  arrival  at  Alexandria  with 
McClellan  oji  the  last  day  of  August.  Her  heart  gave 
a  bound  of  joy.  She  could  see  him  to-morrow.  It 
had  been  five  years  instead  of  five  months  since  she 
had  stood  on  that  little  pier  and  watched  him  float 
away  into  the  mists  of  the  river !  All  life  before  the 
revelation  which  love  had  brought  was  now  a  shadowy 
memory.  Only  love  was  real.  His  letters  had  been 
her  life.  They  hadn't  come  as  often  as  she  had  wished. 
She  demanded  his  whole  heart.  There  could  be  no 
compromise.  It  must  be  all,  all  or  nothing. 

She  tried  to  sleep  and  couldn't.  Her  brain  was 
on  fire. 

"I  must  sleep  and  look  my  best !"  she  laughed  softly, 
buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  laughed  again  for 
joy.  How  could  she  sleep  with  her  lover  standing 
there  alive  and  strong  with  his  arms  clasping  her  to 
his  heart! 

She  rose  at  daylight  and  threw  open  her  window. 
The  air  was  crisp  with  the  breath  of  fall.  She  watched 
the  sun  rise  in  solemn  glory.  A  division  of  cavalry 
dashed  by,  the  horses'  hoofs  ringing  sharply  on  the 
cobble  stones,  sabres  clashing.  Behind  them  came  an 
other  and  another,  and  in  a  distant  street  she  heard 

246 


TANGLED  THREADS 


the  rumble  of  big  guns,  the  crack  of  their  drivers' 
whips  and  the  sharp  cries  of  the  men  urging  the 
horses  to  a  run. 

Something  unusual  was  on  foot.  The  sun  was  barely 
up  and  the  whole  city  seemed  quivering  with  excitement. 

She  dressed  hurriedly,  snatched  a  bite  of  toast 
and  drank  a  cup  of  coffee.  In  twenty  minutes  she 
entered  the  White  House  to  get  her  pass  to  the  front. 
She  wouldn't  go  to  the  War  Department.  Stanton 
was  rude  and  might  refuse.  The  hour  was  absurd, 
but  she  knew  that  the  President  rose  at  daylight  and 
that  he  would  see  her  at  any  hour. 

She  found  him  seated  at  his  desk  alone  pretending  to 
eat  an  egg  and  drink  his  coffee  from  the  tray  that  had 
been  placed  before  him.  His  dishevelled  hair,  haggard 
look  and  the  pallor  of  his  sorrowful  face  showed  only 
too  plainly  that  he  had  not  slept. 

"You  have  bad  news,  Mr.  President?"  Betty  gasped. 

He  rose,  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  a  seat. 

"Not  yet,  dear,  but  I'm  expecting  it." 

"We  lost  the  battle  yesterday?"  she  eagerly  asked. 

"Apparently  not.  You  may  read  that.  I  trust  you 
implicitly." 

He  handed  her  the  dispatch  he  had  received  from 
General  Pope  after  the  first  day's  fight  at  Manassas. 
Betty  read  it  quickly: 

"We  fought  a  terrific  battle  here  yesterday  with  the 
combined  forces  of  the  enemy,  which  lasted  with  con 
tinuous  fury  from  daylight  until  dark,  by  which  time 
the  enemy  was  driven  from  the  field  which  we  now 
occupy.  The  enemy  is  still  in  our  front,  but  badly 
used  up.  We  lost  not  less  than  eight  thousand  men 
killed  and  wounded,  but  from  the  appearance  of  the 

247 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


field  the  enemy  lost  two  to  one.  The  news  has  just 
reached  me  from  the  front  that  the  enemy  is  retreating 
toward  the  mountains." 

Betty  looked  up  surprised: 

"Isn't  that  good  news?" 

"Nothing  to  brag  about.  It's  the  last  sentence  that 
worries  me " 

"But  that  seems  the  best !" 

"It  might  be  but  for  the  fact  that  Jackson  is  lead 
ing  that  retreat  toward  the  mountains!  I've  an  idea 
that  he  will  turn  up  to-day  on  Pope's  rear  with  Lee's 
whole  army  on  his  heels.  Jackson  is  in  the  habit  of 
appearing  where  he's  least  expected " 

He  paused,  paced  the  floor  a  moment  in  silence  and 
threw  his  long  arms  suddenly  upward  in  a  hopeless 
gesture : 

"If  God  would  only  give  me  such  a  man  to  lead  our 
armies !" 

"Is  General  McClellan  at  Alexandria  to-day?"  Betty 
suddenly  asked. 

"I'm  wondering  myself.  He  should  be  on  that  field 
with  every  soldier  under  his  command." 

"I've  come  to  ask  you  for  a  pass  to  Alexandria -" 

"Then  my  worst  fears  are  confirmed!"  he  broke  in 
excitedly.  "Your  sweetheart's  on  McClellan's  staff — 
his  men  will  never  reach  the  field  in  time !" 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  hurriedly  wrote  the  pass 
and  handed  it  to  Betty. 

"God  bless  you,  child.  See  me  when  you  get  back 
and  tell  me  all  you  learn  of  McClellan  and  his  men 
to-day.  The  very  worst  is  suspected " 

"You  mean?" 

"That  this  delay  and  deliberate  trifling  with  the  most 

248 


TANGLED  THREADS 


urgent  and  positive  orders  is  little  short  of  treason. 
Unless  his  men  reach  Pope  to-day  and  fight,  the  Capital 
may  be  threatened  to-morrow." 

"Surely!"  Betty  protested. 

"It's  just  as  I  tell  you,  child,  but  I'll  hope  for  the 
best.  Be  eyes  and  ears  for  me  to-day  and  you  may 
help  me." 

The  agony  of  his  face  and  the  deep  note  of  tragedy 
in  his  voice  had  taken  the  joy  out  of  her  heart.  She 
threw  the  feeling  off  with  an  effort. 

"What  has  it  all  to  do  with  my  love!"  she  cried 
with  a  toss  of  her  pretty  head  as  she  sprang  into  the 
saddle  for  the  gallop  to  Alexandria. 

The  cool,  bracing  air  of  this  first  day  of  September, 
1862,  was  like  wine.  The  dew  was  yet  heavy  on  the  tall 
grass  by  the  roadside  and  a  song  was  singing  in  her 
heart  that  made  all  other  music  dumb. 

John  had  dismounted  and  was  standing  beside  the 
road,  the  horse's  bridle  hanging  on  his  arm  in  the 
very  position  he  had  stood  and  looked  into  her  soul 
that  day. 

She  leaped  to  the  ground  without  waiting  for  his 
help  and  sprang  into  his  arms. 

"I  like  you  better  with  that  bronzed  look — you're 
handsomer  than  ever,"  she  sighed  at  last. 

His  answer  was  another  kiss,  to  which  he  added: 

"No  amount  of  sunburn  could  make  you  any  pret 
tier,  dear — you've  been  perfect  from  the  first." 

"Your  General  is  here?"  Betty  asked. 

"Yes." 

"And  you  can  give  me  the  whole  day?" 

"Every  hour — the  General  is  my  friend." 

The  moment  was  too  sweet  to  allow  any  shadow 
249 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


to  cloud  it.  The  girl  yielded  to  its  spell  without  re 
serve.  They  mounted  and  rode  side  by  side  over  the 
hills.  And  the  man  poured  into  her  ears  the  unspoken 
things  he  had  felt  and  longed  to  say  in  the  lonely 
nights  of  camp  and  field.  The  girl  confessed  the  pain 
and  the  longing  of  her  waiting. 

They  mounted  the  crest  of  a  hill  and  the  breeze 
from  the  southwest  brought  the  sullen  boom  of  a 
cannon. 

Instinctively  they  drew  rein. 

"The  battle  has  begun  again,"  John  said  casually. 

"It  stirs  your  blood,  doesn't  it?"  she  whispered. 

A  frown  darkened  his  brow: 

"Not  to-day." 

The  girl  looked  with  quick  surprise. 

"You  don't  mean  it?" 

"Certainly.  Why  get  excited  when  you  know  the 
end  before  it  begins." 

"You  know  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Victory?" 

He  laughed  cynically: 

"Victory  for  a  pompous  braggart  who  could  write 
that  address  to  an  army  reflecting  on  the  men  who 
fought  Lee  and  Jackson  before  Richmond  with  such 
desperate  courage?" 

"You   are  sure  of  defeat  then?" 

"Absolutely." 

Betty  looked  at  him  with  a  flush  of  angry  excite 
ment: 

"General  McClellan  is  counting  on  Pope's  defeat 
to-day?" 

"Yes." 

250 


TANGLED    THREADS 


"Then  it's  true  that  he  is  not  really  trying  to  help 
him?" 

"Why  should  he  wish  to  sacrifice  his  brave  men 
under  the  leadership  of  a  fool?" 

"He  is,  in  fact,  defying  the  orders  of  the  President, 
isn't  he?" 

"You  might  say  that  if  you  strain  a  point,"  John  ad 
mitted. 

Again  the  long  roar  of  guns  boomed  on  the  West 
ern  horizon,  louder,  clearer.  The  dull  echoes  became 
continuous  now,  and  the  quickening  breeze  brought 
the  faint  din  from  the  vast  field  of  death  whose 
blazing  smoke  covered  lines  stretched  over  seven 
miles. 

" Boom-boom-boom,  boom! — boom!  boom!" 

Again  they  drew  rein  and  listened. 

John's  brow  wrinkled  and  his  right  ear  was  thrown 
slightly  forward. 

"Those  are  our  big  guns,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 
"The  Confederate  artillery  can't  compare  with  ours — 
their  infantry  is  a  terror — stark,  dead  game  fight 
ers " 

"Boom — Boom!  Boom!  Boom!  Boom!" 

"How  do  you  know  those  are  our  guns?"  Betty 
asked  with  a  shiver. 

"The  rebels  have  none  so  large.  They'll  have  some 
to-night." 

Again  an  angry  flush  mounted  her  cheeks : 

"You  wish  them  to  be  captured?" 

"It  will  be  a  wholesome  lesson." 

Betty  leaned  closer  and  grasped  his  hand  with  trem 
bling  eagerness. 

"O  John — John,  dear,  this  is  madness!  General 
251 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


McClellan  has  been  accused  of  treason  already — this 
surely  is  the  basest  betrayal  of  his  country " 

The  man  shook  his  head  stubbornly: 

"No — it's  the  highest  patriotism.  My  Commander 
is  brave  enough  to  dare  the  authorities  at  Washington 
for  the  good  of  his  country.  The  sooner  this  farce 
under  Pope  ends  the  better — no  man  of  second  rate 
ability  can  win  against  the  great  Generals  of  the 
South." 

The  girl's  keen  brown  eyes  looked  steadily  into  his 
and  her  lips  trembled. 

"I  call  it  treachery — the  betrayal  of  his  country 
for  his  selfish  ambitions !  I'm  surprised  that  you  sym 
pathize  with  him." 

John  frowned,  was  silent  and  then  turned  to  her 
with  a  smile: 

"Let's  not  talk  about  it,  dear.  The  day's  too  beau 
tiful.  We're  alone  together.  This  is  not  your  battle — 
nor  mine — it's  Pope's — let  him  fight  it  out.  I  love 
you — that's  all  I  want  to  think  about  to-day." 

The  golden  brown  curls  were  slowly  shaken: 

"It  is  your  battle  and  it's  mine — O  John  dear,  I'm 
heartsick  over  it !  The  President's  anguish  clouded  the 
morning  for  me,  but  the  thought  of  you  made  me 
forget.  Now  I'm  scared.  You've  surprised  and 
shocked  me." 

"Nonsense,  dear!"  he  pleaded. 

She   looked   at   him  with  quick,   eager   yearning. 

"You  love  me?"  she  asked. 

"Can  you  doubt  it?" 

"With  every  beat  of  your  heart?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  do  something  for  me?"  she  begged. 
252 


TANGLED    THREADS 


"What  is  it?" 

"Just  for  me,  because  I  ask  it,  John,  and  you  love 
me?" 

"If  I  can." 

"I  want  you  to  resign  immediately  from  McClellan's 
staff,  report  at  the  War  Department  and  let  the 
President  give  you  new  duties " 

The  man  shot  her  a  look  of  angry  amazement: 

"You   can't  mean  this?" 

Again  the  soft,  warm  hand  that  had  slipped  its 
glove  grasped  his.  He  could  feel  her  slim,  little  fingers 
tremble.  She  had  turned  very  pale: 

"I'm  in  dead  earnest.  I  love  you,  dear,  with  my 
whole  heart,  and  it's  my  love  that  asks  this.  I  can't 
think  of  you  betraying  a  solemn  trust.  The  very 
thought  of  it  cuts  me  to  the  quick.  If  this  is  true, 
General  McClellan  should  be  court-martialed." 

The  man's  square  jaws  closed  with  a  snap: 

"Let  them  try  it  if  they  dare " 

"The  President  will  dare  if  he  believes  it  his  duty." 

"Then  he'll  hear  something  from  the  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  soldiers  who  have  served  under  Mc 
Clellan." 

The  little  hand  pressed  harder. 

"Won't  you,  for  my  sake,  dear, — just  because  I'm 
your  sweetheart  and  you  love  me?" 

The  stalwart  figure  suddenly  stiffened: 

"And  you  could  respect  a  man  who  would  do  a 
thing  like  that?" 

"For  my  sake? — Yes." 

"No,  you  think  you  could.  But  you  couldn't.  No 
woman  can  really  love  a  poltroon  or  a  coward." 

"I'm  not  asking  you  to  do  a  cowardly  thing " 

253 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"To  desert  my  leader  in  a  crisis?" 

"To  wash  your  hands  of  treachery  and  selfish  am 
bitions." 

"But  it's  not  true,"  he  retorted.  "You  mustn't  say 
that.  McClellan's  a  leader  of  genius — brave,  true, 
manly,  patriotic." 

"I've  a  nobler  ideal  of  patriotism " 

"Your  blundering  backwoodsman  in  the  White 
House?" 

"Yes.  He  has  but  one  thought — that  the  Union 
shall  be  saved.  He  has  no  other  ambition.  If  Mc- 
Clellan  succeeds,  he  rejoices.  If  he  fails,  he  is  heart 
broken.  I  know  that  he  has  defended  him  against  the 
assaults  of  his  enemies.  He  has  refused  to  listen  to 
men  who  assailed  his  loyalty  and  patriotism.  This 
generous  faith  your  Chief  is  betraying  to-day.  That 
you  defend  him  is  horrible — O  John,  dear,  I  can't — I 
won't  let  you  stay!  You  must  break  your  connec 
tion  with  this  conspiracy  of  vain  ambition.  The 
country  is  calling  now  for  every  true,  unselfish  man — 
please !" 

He  lifted  his  hand  in  firm  protest : 

"And  for  that  very  reason  I  stand  firmly  by  the 
man  I  believe  destined  to  save  my  country." 

"You  won't  change  Commanders  because  I  ask  it?" 

He  was  silent  a  moment  and  a  smile  played  about 
the  corners  of  his  lips: 

"Would  you  change  because  I  asked  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  come  over   from  Lincoln  to  McClellan,"  he 
laughed. 
i     "And  join  your  group  of  conspirators — never!" 

"Not  if  I  ask  it,  because  I  love  you?" 
254 


"Betty  glanced  at  the  stolid,  set  face  and  firm  lips.' 


TANGLED  THREADS 


Her  brown  eyes  sparkled  with  anger: 

"You'll  not  find  this  a  joke!" 

"That's  why  I  treat  it  seriously,  my  dear,"  was  the 
firm  reply.  "If  I  could  throw  up  my  position  in  this 
war  on  the  sudden  impulse  of  my  sweetheart,  I'd  be 
ashamed  to  look  a  man  in  the  face — and  you  would 
despise  me !" 

"If  your  Commander  succeeds  to-day  in  bringing 
disaster  to  our  army  I'll  despise  you  for  aiding 
him " 

"Let's  not  discuss  it — please,  dear!"  he  begged 
with  a  frown. 

"As  you  please,"  was  the   cold  reply. 

They  rode  on  in  silence,  broken  only  by  the  increas 
ing  roar  of  the  great  guns  at  Manassas.  Betty  glanced 
at  the  stolid,  set  face  and  firm  lips.  Her  anger  stead 
ily  rose  with  every  throb  of  Pope's  cannon.  Each 
low  thunder  peal  on  the  horizon  now  was  a  cry  for 
help  from  dying  mangled  thousands  and  the  man  she 
loved  refusing  to  hear. 

Suddenly  the  picture  of  his  brother  flashed  before 
her  vision,  the  high-strung,  clean  young  spirit,  chival 
rous,  daring,  fighting  for  what  he  knew  to  be  right — 
right  because  right  is  right,  and  wrong  is  wrong. 

She  looked  at  John  Vaughan  with  a  feeling  of  fierce 
anger.  Between  the  two  men  she  preferred  the  enemy 
who  was  fighting  in  the  open  to  win  or  die.  Her  soul 
went  out  to  Ned  in  a  wave  of  tender  admiration. 
Her  wrath  against  his  brother  steadily  rose. 

Suddenly  she  drew  her  rein : 

"You  need  come  no  further.  I'll  ride  back  home 
alone." 

He  bit  his  lips  without  turning  and  was  silent.  She 
255 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


touched  her  horse  with  her  whip  and  galloped  swiftly 
toward  Washington. 


The  last  day  of  Pope's  brief  campaign  ended 
in  the  overwhelming  disaster  of  the  second  battle  of 
Bull  Run.  The  sound  of  his  cannon  reached  Mc- 
Clellan's  ears,  but  the  organizer  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac,  though  ordered  to  do  so,  never  joined  his 
rival. 

Once  more  the  army  of  the  Union  was  hurled  back 
on  Washington  in  panic,  confusion  and  appalling  dis 
aster.  Lee  and  Jackson  had  crushed  Pope's  hosts 
with  a  rapidity  and  ease  that  struck  terror  to  the 
heart  of  the  Nation.  General  Pope  lost  fifteen  thou 
sand  men  in  a  single  battle.  Lee  and  Jackson  lost  less 
than  half  as  many. 

The  storm  broke  over  McClellan's  head  at  Wash 
ington  on  his  arrival.  Stanton  and  Halleck  and  Pope 
accused  him  of  treachery.  The  hot  heads  demanded 
his  arrest  and  trial  by  court-martial. 

The  President  shook  his  head,  but  sadly  added : 

"He  has  acted  badly  toward  Pope.  He  really  wanted 
him  to  fail." 

And  then  began  the  search  to  find  the  man  once 
more  to  weld  the  shattered  army  into  an  efficient 
fighting  force. 

Abraham  Lincoln  asked  himself  this  question  with 
a  sense  of  the  deepest  and  most  solemn  responsibility. 
He  must  answer  at  the  bar  of  his  conscience  before 
God  and  his  country.  Again  he  brushed  aside  every 
adviser  inside  and  outside  his  Cabinet  and  determined 
on  his  choice  absolutely  alone. 

256 


TANGLED  THREADS 


Early  on  the  morning  of  September  2nd  John 
Vaughan  looked  from  the  window  of  General  Mc- 
Clellan's  house  and  saw  the  giant  figure  of  the  Presi 
dent  approaching,  accompanied  by  Halleck. 

When  his  aide  announced  this  startling  fact,  the 
General  coolly  said: 

"It  means  my  arrest,  no  doubt.  I'm  ready.  Let 
them  come." 

The  President  was  not  kept  waiting  this  time. 
His  General  was  there  to  receive  him. 

The  rugged  face  was  pale  and  drawn. 

"General  McClellan,"  he  began  without  ceremony, 
"I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  take  command  of  all  the 
returning  troops  for  the  defense  of  Washington." 

The  short,  stalwart  figure  of  the  General  suddenly 
straightened,  his  blue  eyes  flashed  with  amazement 
and  then  softened  into  a  misty  expression.  He  bowed 
with  dignity  and  quietly  said: 

"I  accept  the  position,  sir." 

"I  need  not  repeat,"  the  President  went  on,  "that 
I  disapprove  some  things  you  have  done.  I  have  made 
this  plain  to  you.  I  do  this  because  I  believe  it's 
best  for  our  country.  I  assume  its  full  responsibility 
and  I  expect  great  things  of  you." 

The  President  bowed  and  left  the  astonished  Gen 
eral  and  his  still  more  astonished  aide  gazing  after  his 
long  swinging  legs  returning  to  the  White  House. 

He  had  done  the  most  unpopular  act  of  his  entire 
administration.  His  decision  had  defied  the  fiercest 
popular  hostility.  He  faced  a  storm  of  denunciation 
which  would  have  appalled  a  less  simple  and  masterful 
man.  The  Cabinet  meeting  which  followed  the  startling 
news  was  practically  a  riot.  He  listened  to  all  his 

257 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


excited  Ministers  had  to  say  with  patience.  When 
they  had  spoken  their  last  word  of  bitter  disapproval 
he  quietly  rose  and  ended  the  tumultuous  session  with 
two  or  three  sentences  which  none  could  answer: 

"There  is  no  one  in  the  army  who  can  man  these 
fortifications  and  lick  these  troops  of  ours  into  shape 
half  as  well  as  he  can.  McClellan  is  a  great  engineer — 
of  the  stationary  type,  perhaps.  But  we  must  use 
the  tools  we  have !  If  he  cannot  fight  himself,  at  least 
he  excels  in  making  others  ready  to  fight." 

He  waited  for  an  answer  and  none  came.  He  had 
not  only  averted  a  Cabinet  crisis  but  his  remorseless 
common  sense  and  his  unswerving  adherence  to  what 
he  saw  was  best  had  strengthened  his  authority  over 
all  his  councillors. 

When  the  rest  had  gone  he  turned  to  the  young 
man  who  knew  him  best,  his  Secretary,  John  Nicolay, 
and  gripped  his  arm  with  a  big  hand  which  was  trem 
bling  : 

"The  most  painful  duty  of  my  official  life,  Boy! 
There  has  been  a  design,  a  purpose  in  breaking  down 
Pope  without  regard  to  the  consequences  to  the  coun 
try  that  is  atrocious.  It's  shocking  to  see  and  know 
this,  but  there  is  no  remedy  at  present.  McClellan 
has  the  army  with  him  and  I  must  use  him." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE    CHALLENGE 

"One  war  at  a  time,"  the  President  said  to  his  Sec 
retary  of  State  when  he  proposed  a  foreign  fight.  He 
must  now  strangle  Northern  public  opinion  to  enforce 
this  principle. 

Captain  Wilkes  had  overhauled  the  British  Steamer 
Trent  on  the  high  seas,  searched  her  and  taken  the 
Confederate  Commissioners  Mason  and  Slidell  by  force 
from  her  decks. 

The  people  of  the  North  were  mad  with  joy  over 
the  daring  act.  Congress,  swept  off  its  feet  by  the 
wave  of  popular  hysteria,  proclaimed  Wilkes  a  hero 
and  voted  their  thanks.  The  President  did  not  move 
with  current  opinion.  He  had  formed  the  habit  in 
boyhood  of  thinking  for  himself,  and  had  never  al 
lowed  himself  to  take  his  cues  for  action  from  second 
hand  suggestions.  From  the  first  he  raised  the  ques 
tion  of  Wilkes'  right  to  stop  the  vessel  of  a  friendly 
nation  on  the  high  seas,  search  her  and  take  her  pas 
sengers  prisoners  by  force  of  arms. 

The  backwoods  lawyer  questioned,  too,  the  right  off  a 
naval  officer  to  turn  his  quarter-deck  into  a  court  and 
decide  questions  of  international  law  offhand.  He 
raised  the  point  at  once  whether  these  men  thus  cap 
tured  might  not  be  white  elephants  on  the  hands  of 

259 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


the  Government.  Moreover  he  reminded  his  Cabinet 
that  we  had  fought  England  once  for  daring  to  do 
precisely  this  thing. 

Great  Britain  promptly  drew  her  sword  and  made 
ready  for  war. 

Queen  Victoria's  Government  not  only  demanded 
that  the  return  of  these  passengers  be  made  at  once 
with  an  apology,  but  did  it  in  a  way  so  offensive  that 
a  less  balanced  man  in  power  would  have  lost  his  head 
and  committed  the  fatal  blunder. 

The  tall,  quiet  Chief  Magistrate  was  equal  to  the 
occasion.  Great  Britain  had  ordered  her  navy  on  a 
war  footing,  dispatched  eight  thousand  troops  to 
Canada  to  strike  by  land  as  well  as  sea,  allowing  us 
but  seven  days  in  which  to  comply  with  all  her  demands 
or  hand  Lord  Lyons  his  passports. 

The  President  immediately  dictated  a  reply  which 
forced  her  Prime  Minister  to  accept  it  and  achieved 
for  the  Nation  the  establishment  of  a  principle  for 
which  we  had  fought  in  vain  in  1812. 

He  ordered  the  prisoners  returned  and  an  apology 
expressed.  His  apology  was  a  two-edged  sword  thrust 
which  Great  Britain  was  compelled  to  take  with  a 
groan. 

"In  1812,"  the  President  said,  "the  United  States 
fought  because  you  claimed  the  right  to  stop  our  ves 
sels  on  the  high  seas,  search  them  and  take  by  force 
British  subjects  found  thereon.  Our  country  in  making 
this  surrender,  adheres  to  the  ancient  principle  for 
which  we  contended  and  we  are  glad  to  find  that  Her 
Majesty's  Government  in  demanding  this  surrender 
thereby  renounces  an  error  and  accepts  our  position." 

Lord  Palmerston  made  a  wry  face,  but  was  com- 
260 


THE   CHALLENGE 


pelled  to  accept  the  surrender,  and  with  it  seal  his 
own  humiliation  as  a  beaten  diplomat.  War  with 
England  at  this  moment  would  have  meant  unparalleled 
disaster.  France  had  ambitions  in  Mexico  and  she  was 
bound  in  friendship  to  England.  The  two  great  Na 
tions  of  Europe  would  have  been  hurled  against  our  / 
divided  country  with  the  immediate  recognition  of  the 
Confederacy. 

The  President  forced  this  return  of  the  prisoners 
and  apparent  surrender  to  Great  Britain  in  the  face 
of  the  blindest  and  most  furious  outbursts  of  popular 
rage. 

Gilbert  Winter  rose  in  the  Senate  and  in  thunderous 
oratory  voiced  the  well-nigh  unanimous  feeling  of  the 
millions  of  the  North  of  all  parties  and  factions: 

"I  warn  the  administration  against  this  dastardly 
and  cowardly  surrender  to  a  foreign  foe!  The  voice 
of  the  people  demand  that  we  stand  firm  on  our  dignity 
as  a  Sovereign  Nation.  If  the  President  and  his  Cab 
inet  refuse  to  listen  they  will  find  themselves  engulfed 
in  a  fire  that  will  consume  them  like  stubble.  They  will 
find  themselves  helpless  before  a  power  that  will  hurl 
them  from  their  places !" 

The  President  was  still  under  the  cloud  of  public 
wrath  over  this  affair  when  the  crisis  of  the  problem 
of  emancipation  became  acute.  The  gradual  growth 
of  the  number  of  his  bitter  foes  in  Washington  he  had 
seen  with  deep  distress.  And  yet  it  was  inevitable.  No 
man  in  his  position  could  administer  the  great  office 
whose  power  he  was  wielding  without  fear  or  favor  and 
not  make  enemies.  And  now  both  friend  and  foe  were 
closing  in  on  him  with  a  well-nigh  resistless  demand 
for  emancipation. 

261 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Hour  after  hour  he  sat  patiently  in  his  office  re 
ceiving  these  impassioned  delegations. 

Old  Edward  was  standing  at  the  door  again  smiling 
and  washing  his  hands : 

"A  delegation  of  editors,  presenting  Mr.  Horace 
Greeley's  'Prayer  of  Twenty  Millions.'  " 

The  patient  eyes  were  lifted  from  his  desk,  and  the 
strong  mouth  firmly  pressed: 

"Let  them  in." 

The  President  rose  in  his  easy,  careless  manner: 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  gentlemen.  You  are  the  lead 
ers  of  public  opinion.  The  people  rule  this  country 
and  I  am  their  servant.  What  is  it?" 

The  Chairman  of  the  Committee  stepped  forward 
and  gravely  handed  him  an  engrossed  copy  of  Greeley's 
famous  editorial,  "The  Prayer  of  Twenty  Millions," 
demanding  the  immediate  issue  of  a  proclamation  of 
emancipation. 

The  Chairman  bowed  and  spoke  in  earnest  tones : 

"As  the  representatives  of  millions  of  readers  we 
present  this  'Prayer'  with  our  endorsement  and  the 
request  that  you  act.  In  particular  we  call  your  at 
tention  to  these  paragraphs : 

"  'A  great  portion  of  those  who  brought  about  your 
election  and  all  those  who  desire  the  unqualified  sup 
pression  of  the  rebellion,  are  sorely  disappointed, 
pained  and  surprised  by  the  policy  you  seem  to  be 
pursuing  with  regard  to  the  slaves  of  rebels.  I  write 
to  set  before  you  succinctly  and  unmistakably  what 
we  require,  what  we  have  a  right  to  expect  and  of 
what  we  complain. 

"  'We  think  you  are  unduly  influenced  by  the  coun 
sels,  the  representations  and  the  menaces  of  certain 

262 


THE   CHALLENGE 


fossil  politicians  from  the  Border  Slave  States,  know 
ing  as  you  do,  that  the  loyal  citizens  of  these  States 
do  not  expect  that  Slavery  shall  be  upheld,  to  the 
prejudice  of  the  Union. 

"  'We  complain  that  the  Union  cause  has  suffered 
and  is  now  suffering  immensely  from  the  mistaken 
course  which  you  are  pursuing  and  persistently  cling  to, 
in  defense  of  slavery.  We  complain  that  the  confisca 
tion  act  which  you  approved  is  being  wantonly  and 
wholly  disregarded  by  your  Generals,  apparently  with 
your  knowledge  and  consent. 

"  'The  seeming  subserviency  of  your  policy  to  the 
slave  holding,  slave  upholding  interest  is  the  perplexity 
and  the  despair  of  statesmen  of  all  parties.  Whether 
you  will  choose  to  listen  to  their  admonishment  or 
wait  for  your  verdict  through  future  history,  or  at  the 
bar  of  God,  I  do  not  know.  I  can  only  hope.5  " 

The  President's  sombre  eyes  met  his  with  a  pene 
trating  flash  and  rested  on  Senator  Winter  who  re 
mained  in  the  background.  He  took  the  paper,  laid 
it  carefully  on  his  desk,  threw  his  right  leg  across  the 
corner  of  the  long  table  in  easy,  friendly  attitude  and 
began  his  reply  persuasively: 

"The  editor  of  the  Tribune,  gentleman,  if  on  my 
side,  is  equal  to  an  army  of  a  hundred  thousand  men 
in  the  field.  I've  known  this  from  the  first.  Against 
me  he  throws  this  army  in  the  re»r  and  fires  into  my 
back.  My  grievance  is  that  his  Prayer  which  you  have 
made  yours  is  being  used  for  ammunition  in  this  rear 
attack.  It  should  have  been  presented  to  me  first,  if 
it  were  a  genuine  prayer.  I  have  read  it  carefully. 
It  is  full  of  blunders  of  fact  and  reasoning,  but  it 
fairly  expresses  the  discontent  in  the  minds  of  many. 

263 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Its  unfair  assumptions  will  poison  millions  of  readers 
against  me " 

He  paused,  opened  a  drawer  in  his  desk,  took  from 
it  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  he  had  written  in  firm, 
clear  hand  a  brief  message  in  reply,  and  turned  to  his 
petitioners : 

"And  therefore,  gentlemen,  I  have  written  a  few 
words  in  answer  to  this  attack.  I  ask  you  to  give  it 
the  same  wide  hearing  you  have  accorded  the  assault. 
I'll  read  it  to  you: 

"'Dear  Sir: — I  have  just  read  yours  of  the  19th 
instant  addressed  to  myself  through  the  New  York 
Tribune. 

"  'If  there  be  in  it  any  statements  or  assumptions 
of  fact,  which  I  know  to  be  erroneous,  I  do  not  now 
and  here  controvert  them. 

"  'If  there  be  any  influences  which  I  believe  to  be 
falsely  drawn,  I  do  not  now  and  here  argue  against 
them. 

"  If  there  be  perceptible  in  it  an  impatient  and 
dictatorial  tone,  I  waive  it  in  deference  to  an  old  friend, 
whose  heart  I  have  always  supposed  to  be  right. 

"  'As  to  the  policy  I  seem  to  be  pursuing,  as  you  say, 
I  have  not  meant  to  leave  anyone  in  doubt.  I  would 
save  the  Union.  I  would  save  it  in  the  shortest  way 
under  the  Constitution. 

"  'The  sooner  the  National  authority  can  be  re 
stored,  the  nearer  the  Union  will  be, — the  Union  as  it 
was. 

"  'If  there  be  those  who  would  not  save  the  Union, 
unless  they  could  at  the  same  time  save  Slavery,  I  do 
not  agree  with  them. 

"  'If  there  be  those  who  would  not  save  the  Union, 

264 


THE   CHALLENGE 


unless  they  could  at  the  same  time  destroy  Slavery,  I 
do  not  agree  with  them. 

;<  'My  paramount  object  is  to  save  the  Union,  and 
not  either  to  save  or  destroy  Slavery. 

"  'If  I  could  save  the  Union  without   freeing  any  > 
slave  I  would  do  it.     And  if  I  could  save  it  by  freeing 
all  the  slaves  I  would  do  it.    And  if  I  could  save  it  by 
freeing  some,  and  leaving  others  alone,  I  would  also 
do  that. 

"  'What  I  do  about  Slavery  and  the  colored  race 
I   do   because   I  believe   it   helps   to   save   the  Union,  I* 
and  what  I  forbear,  I  forbear  because  I  do  not  believe 
it  would  help  to  save  the  Union. 

"  'I  shall  do  less  whenever  I  believe  what  I  am  doing 
hurts  the  cause,  and  I  shall  do  more,  whenever  I  believe 
doing  more  will  help  the  cause. 

"  'I  shall  try  to  correct  errors,  when  shown  to  be 
errors,  and  I  shall  adopt  new  views  so  fast  as  they 
shall  appear  to  be  true  views. 

"  'I  have  stated  my  purpose,  according  to  my  view 
of  official  duty,  and  I  intend  no  modification  of  my 
oft  expressed  personal  wish,  that  all  men  everywhere  / 
could  be  free.' ' 

A  moment  of  deathlike  stillness  followed  the  read 
ing.  The  members  of  the  committee  had  unconsciously 
pressed  nearer.  Some  of  them  stood  with  shining  eyes 
gazing  at  the  rugged,  towering  figure  as  if  drawn  by 
a  magnet.  The  stark  earnestness  and  simplicity  of 
his  defense  had  found  their  hearts.  The  daring  of 
it  fairly  took  their  breath. 

Senator  Winter  turned  to  his  nearest  neighbor  and 
growled  : 

"Bah!    The  trouble  is  Lincoln's  a  Southerner — born  A 
£65 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


in  the  poisoned  slave  atmosphere  of  the  South.  He 
grew  up  in  Southern  Indiana  and  Illinois.  His  neigh 
bors  there  were  settlers  from  the  South.  He  has  never 
breathed  anything  but  Southern  air  and  ideals.  It's  in 
his  blood.  Only  a  man  born  in  the  South  could  have 
written  that  document " 

The  listener  looked  up  suddenly: 

"I  believe  you  are  right.  Excuse  me — I  want  to 
speak  to  the  long-legged  Southerner.  I've  never  seen 
him  before." 

To  the  astonishment  of  the  Senator,  the  editor 
pushed  his  way  into  the  group  who  were  shaking 
hands  with  the  President. 

He  paused  an  instant,  extended  his  hand  and  felt 
the  rugged  fingers  close  on  it  with  a  hearty  grip. 
Before  he  realized  it  he  was  saying  something  as 
tounding — something  the  farthest  possible  removed 
from  his  thoughts  on  entering  the  room. 

"I  want  to  thank  you,  sir,  for  that  document.  The 
heart  of  an  unselfish  patriot  speaks  through  every 
word.  I  came  here  to  criticise  and  find  fault.  I'm 
going  home  to  stand  by  you  through  thick  and  thin. 
You've  given  us  a  glimpse  inside." 

Both  big  hands  were  now  clasping  his  and  a  mist 
was  clouding  the  hazel-grey  eyes. 

"The  Senator  accuses  you,"  he  went  on,  "of  being 
a  Southerner.  He  must  be  right.  No  Northern  man 
could  have  seen  through  the  clouds  of  passion  to-day 
clearly  enough  to  have  written  that  letter.  You  can, 
see  things  for  all  the  people,  North,  South,  East  and 
West.  God  bless  you — I'm  going  home  to  fight  for 
you  and  with  you " 

In  angry  amazement  Senator  Winter  saw  most  of 

266 


THE   CHALLENGE 


the  men  he  had  led  to  this  carefully  planned  attack 
walk  up  and  pledge  their  loyalty  to  his  smiling  foe. 
He  turned  on  his  heel  and  left,  his  jaw  set,  his  blue 
eyes  dancing  with  fury. 

Old  Edward  was  again  rubbing  his  hands  apologeti 
cally  at  the  door: 

"A  body  of  clergymen  from  Chicago,  sir " 

"Clergymen  from  Chicago?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  didn't  know  they  ever  used  such  things  in  Chi 
cago  !" 

He  caught  his  knee  in  his  big  hands,  leaned  back 
and  laughed  heartily.  The  doorman  looked  straight 
ahead  and  managed  to  keep  his  solemn"  countenance 
under  control. 

"All  right,  let  them  in,  Edward." 

The  reverend  gentlemen  solemnly  filed  into  the  ex 
ecutive  office.  They  looked  around  in  evident  amaze 
ment  at  its  bare  poverty-stricken  appearance.  They 
had  been  shocked  at  the  threadbare  appearance  of  the 
White  House  grounds  as  they  entered.  This  room  was 
a  greater  shock — this  throbbing  nerve  centre  of  the 
Nation.  In  the  middle  stood  the  long,  plain  table 
around  which  the  storm-racked  Cabinet  were  wont  to 
gather.  There  was  not  a  single  piece  of  ornamental 
or  superfluous  furniture  visible.  It  appeared  almost 
bare.  A  second-hand  upright  desk  stood  by  the  mid 
dle  window^  In  the  northwest  corner  of  the  room 
there  were  racks  with  map  rollers,  and  folios  of  maps 
on  the  floor  and  leaning  against  the  wall. 

The  well-dressed,  prosperous-looking  gentlemen 
gazed  about  in  a  critical  way. 

Their  spokesman  was  a  distinguished  Bishop  who 
267 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


knew  that  he  was  distinguished  and  conveyed  the  in 
formation  in  every  movement  of  his  august  body. 

"We  have  come,  Mr.  President,"  he  solemnly  began, 
"as  God's  messengers  to  urge  on  you  the  immediate  and 
universal  emancipation  of  every  slave  in  America." 

The  faintest  suggestion  of  a  smile  played  about  the 
corners  of  the  big,  firm  mouth  as  he  rose  and  began  a 
reply  which  greatly  astonished  his  visitors.  They 
had  come  to  lecture  him  and  before  they  knew  it  the 
lamb  had  risen  to  slay  the  butchers. 

"I  am  approached,  gentlemen,"  he  said  softly,  "with 
the  most  opposite  opinions  and  advice,  and  that  by 
religious  men,  who  are  equally  certain  that  they  repre 
sent  the  Divine  Will.  I  am  sure  that  either  one  or  the 
other  class  is  mistaken  in  that  belief,  and  perhaps  in 
some  respects,  both.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  irreverent 
for  me  to  say  that  if  it  is  probable  that  God  would 
reveal  His  will  to  others  on  a  point  so  connected  with 
my  duty,  it  might  be  supposed  He  would  reveal  it 
directly  to  me " 

He  paused  just  an  instant  and  his  bashy  eyebrows 
were  raised  a  trifle  as  if  in  search  of  one  friendly  face 
in  which  the  sense  of  humor  was  not  dead.  He  met 
with  frozen  silence  and  calmly  continued: 

"Unless  I  am  more  deceived  in  myself  than  I  often 
am,  it  is  my  earnest  desire  to  know  the  will  of  Provi 
dence  in  this  matter.  And  if  I  can  learn  what  it  is  I 
will  do  it!  These  are  not,  however,  the  days  of  mira 
cles,  and  I  suppose  it  will  be  granted  that  I  am  not 
to  expect  a  direct  revelation.  I  must  study  the  plain 
physical  facts  of  the  case,  ascertain  what  is  possible, 
and  learn  what  appears  to  be  wise  and  right.  The 
subject  is  difficult  and  good  men  do  not  agrc 

268 


THE   CHALLENGE 


"We  are  all  agreed  to-day!"  the  leader  inter 
rupted. 

"Even  so,  Bishop,  but  we  are  not  all  here  to-day." 

The  gentle  irony  was  lost  on  the  great  man,  and  the 
President  went  on  good-naturedly : 

"What  good  would  a  proclamation  of  emancipation 
do  as  we  are  now  situated?  Shall  I  issue  a  document 
that  the  whole  world  will  see  must  be  of  no  more 
effect  that  the  Pope's  bull  against  the  comet?  Will 
my  words  free  the  slaves  when  I  cannot  even  enforce 
the  Constitution  in  the  rebel  States?  Is  there  a  single 
court  or  magistrate,  or  individual  that  will  be  in 
fluenced  by  it  there?  I  approved  the  law  of  Congress 
which  offers  protection  and  freedom  to  the  slaves  of 
rebel  masters  who  come  within  our  lines.  Yet  I  can 
not  learn  that  the  law  has  caused  a  single  slave  to 
come  over  to  us. 

"Now  then,  tell  me,  if  you  please,  what  possible 
result  of  good  would  follow  the  issuing  of  such  a  pro 
clamation  as  you  desire?  The  greatest  evils  might 
follow  it — among  them  the  revolt  of  the  Border  Slave 
States  which  we  have  held  loyal  with  so  much  care, 
and  the  desertion  from  the  ranks  of  our  armies  of 
thousands  of  Democratic  soldiers  who  tell  us  plainly 
that  they  are  not  fighting  and  they're  not  going  to 
fight  to  free  negroes! 

"Understand  me,  I  raise  no  objection  against  it  on 
legal  grounds.  As  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army 
and  Navy  in  time  of  war,  I  suppose  I  have  a  right 
to  take  any  measure  which  may  best  subdue  the  enemy. 
Nor  do  I  urge  objections  of  a  moral  nature  in  view 
of  possible  consequences  of  servile  insurrection  and 
massacre  in  the  South.  I  view  this  matter  now  as  a 

269 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


practical  war  measure.  Has  the  moment  arrived  when 
I  can  best  strike  with  this  weapon? 

"Do  not  misunderstand  me  because  I  have  mentioned 
objections.  They  indicate  some  of  the  difficulties  that 
have  thus  far  prevented  my  action  in  some  such  way 
as  you  desire.  I  have  not  decided  against  a  proclama 
tion  of  liberty  to  the  slaves.  I  hold  the  matter  under 
advisement.  And  I  can  assure  you  that  the  subject 
is  on  my  mind,  by  day  and  night  more  than  any  other. 
What  shall  appear  to  be  God's  will  I  will  do " 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  a  smile  illumined  his  dark 
face: 

"But  I  cannot  see,  gentlemen,  why  God  should  be 
sending  his  message  to  me  by  so  roundabout  route  as 
the  sinful  city  of  Chicago.  I  trust  that  in  the  freedom 
with  which  I  have  canvassed  your  views  and  expressed 
my  own,  I  have  not  in  any  respect  injured  your  feel- 
ings." 

The  ice  was  broken  at  last  and  the  men  of  God 
began  to  smile,  press  forward  and  shake  his  hand. 
They  came  his  critics,  and  left  his  friends. 

And  yet  no  hint  was  given  to  a  single  man  present 
that  his  Emancipation  Proclamation  had  been  written 
two  months  before  and  at  this  moment  was  lying  in 
the  drawer  of  the  old  desk  before  which  he  sat.  Long 
before  the  revelation  of  God's  will  through  these 
clergymen  he  had  discussed  its  provisions  before  his 
Cabinet  and  enjoined  absolute  secrecy.  Men  from  all 
walks  of  life  came  to  advise  the  backwoods  lawyer  on 
how  to  save  the  country.  He  listened  to  all  and  then 
did  exactly  what  he  believed  to  be  best. 

His  plan  had  long  been  formed  on  the  subject  of 
the  destruction  of  Slavery.  His  purpose  was  to  ac- 

270 


THE   CHALLENGE 


complish  this  great  task  in  a  way  which  would  give 
his  people  a  just  and  lasting  peace.  He  held  the  firm 
conviction  that  the  North  was  equally  responsible  with 
the  South  for  the  existence  of  Slavery,  and  that  the 
Constitution  which  he  had  sworn  to  defend  and  uphold 
guaranteed  to  the  slave  owner  his  rights.  He  was 
determined  to  free  the  slaves  if  possible,  but  to  do  it 
fairly  and  honestly  and  then  settle  the  question  for  all 
time  by  colonizing  the  negro  race  and  removing  them^ 
forever  from  physical  contact  with  the  white. 

At  his  request  Congress  had  already  passed  a  bill* 
providing  for  the  colonization  of  emancipated  slaves. 
He  now  sent  for  a  number  of  representative  negroes 
to  hear  his  message  and  deliver  it  to  their  people. 

Old  Edward  ushered  them  into  his  office  with  a 
look  of  unmistakable  superiority. 

It  was  a  strange  meeting — this  facing  for  the  first 
time  between  the  supreme  representative  of  the  dom 
inant  race  of  the  new  era  and  the  freed  black  men 
whose  very  existence  the  President  held  to  be  an  eternal 
menace  against  the  Nation's  future.  It  is  remarkable 
that  the  first  words  Abraham  Lincoln  ever  addressed 
as  President  to  an  assemblage  of  negroes  should  have 
been  the  words  which  fell  from  his  lips. 

The  ebony  faces,  their  cream-colored  teeth  showing 
with  smiles  and  their  wide  rolling  eyes  roaming  the 
room  made  a  striking  and  dramatic  contrast  to  the 
rugged  face  and  frame  of  the  man  who  addressed  them. 

"Your   race   is   suffering,"   he   began  with  distinct, 
clean    cut    emphasis,    "in   my    judgment    the    greatest  * 
wrong  inflicted  on   any  people.     But  even  when  you 
cease  to  be  slaves,  you  are  yet  far  removed  from  being  ^ 
placed  on  an  equality  with  the  white  race.     On  this 

271 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


broad  continent  not  a  single  man  of  your  race  is  made 
1  the  equal  of  a  single  man  of  ours.  Go  where  you  are 
treated  best  ajjd  the  ban  is  still  upon  you.  I  cannot 
alter  it  if  I  would. 

"It  is  better  for  us  both,  therefore,  to  be  separated. 
*»  One  of  the  principal  difficulties  in  the  way  of  coloniza 
tion  is  that  the  free  colored  man  cannot  see  that  his 
comfort  would  be  advanced  by  it.  For  the  sake  of  your 
race  you  should  sacrifice  something  of  your  present 
comfort.  In  the  American  Revolution  sacrifices  were 
made  by  the  men  engaged  in  it.  They  were  cheered  by 
the  future. 

"The  Colony  of  Liberia  is  an  old  one,  is  in  a  sense 
"*  a  success  and  it  is  open  to  you.  I  am  arranging  to 
open  another  in  Central  America.  It  is  nearer  than 
Liberia — within  seven  days  by  steamer.  You  are  in 
telligent  and  know  that  success  does  not  so  much 
depend  on  external  help  as  on  self-reliance.  Much  de 
pends  on  yourself.  If  you  will  engage  in  the  enter 
prise,  I  will  spend  some  of  the  money  intrusted  to  me. 
This  is  the  practical  part  of  my  wish  to  see  you.  I 
ask  you  then  to  consider  it  seriously,  not  for  your 
selves  merely,  nor  for  your  race  and  ours  for  the 
^  present  time,  but  for  the  good  of  mankind." 

He  dismissed  his  negro  hearers  and  sent  again  for 
the  representatives  of  the  Border  Slave  States.  Here 
his  plan  must  be  set  in  motion.  He  proposed  to  pay 
for  the  slaves  set  free  and  arrange  for  their  coloniza 
tion. 

He  spoke  with  deep  emotion.  His  soul  throbbed 
with  passionate  tenderness  in  every  word. 

"You  are  patriots  and  statesmen,"  he  solemnly  de 
clared,  "and  as  such  I  pray  you  to  consider  this 

272 


THE    CHALLENGE 


proposition,  and  at  the  least  commend  it  to  the  con 
sideration  of  your  States  and  people.  Our  common 
country  is  in  grave  peril  demanding  the  loftiest  views 
and  boldest  action  to  bring  it  speedy  relief.  You  can 
make  it  possible  to  accomplish  the  just  destruction 
of  this  curse  of  our  life.  It  will  bring  emancipation 
as  a  voluntary  "process,  leaving  the  least  resentment 
in  the  minds  of  our  slave-holders.  It  will  not  be  a 
violent  war  measure,  to  be  remembered  with  fierce  re 
bellious  anger.  It  will  pave  the  way  for  good  feeling 
at  last  between  all  sections  when  reunited.  It  is  rea 
sonable.  It  is  just.  It  will  leave  no  cause  for  sec 
tional  enmity.  This  plan  of  gradual  emancipation 
with  pay  for  each  slave  to  his  owner  will  secure  peace  * 
more  speedily  and  maintain  it  more  permanently  than 
can  be  done  by  force  alone.  Its  cost  could  be  easier 
paid  than  the  additional  cost  of  war  and  would  sacri 
fice  no  blood  at  all. 

"In  giving  freedom  to  the  slave,  we  assure  freedom   i 
to  the  free — honorable  alike  in  what  we  give  and  what  I 
we  preserve.     We  shall  nobly  save  or  meanly  lose  the 
last  best  hope  of  earth.     Other  means  may   succeed. 
This  could  not  fail.     The  way  is  plain,  peaceful,  gen 
erous,  just — a  way  which  if  followed,  the  world  will 
forever  applaud,  and  God  must  forever  bless." 

His  tender,  eloquent  appeal  fell  on  deaf  ears.  The 
men  who  represented  the  Border  Slave  States  refused 
to  permit  the  question  of  tampering  with  Slavery  to  be 
submitted  to  their  people — no  matter  by  what  process, 
with  or  without  pay. 

They  demanded  with  sullen  persistence  that  the 
President  defy  all  shades  of  Northern  opinion  and 
stand  squarely  by  his  Inaugural  address.  In  vain  he 

273 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


pointed  out  to  them  that  the  fact  of  a  desperate  and 
terrible  war,  costing-  two  million  dollars  a  day  and 
threatening  the  existence  of  the  Government  itself,  had 
changed  the  conditions  under  which  he  made  that 
pledge. 

When  the  President  at  last  introduced  into  Con 
gress  through  his  spokesman  the  bill  appropriating 
fifteen  million  dollars  with  which  to  pay  for  their 
slaves,  the  men  from  the  Border  States  united  with  the 
Democrats  and  defeated  it! 

With  a  sorrowful  heart  and  deep  forebodings  of  the 
future  he  turned  to  his  desk  and  drew  forth  the  docu 
ment  he  had  written  declaring  as  an  act  of  war  against 
the  States  in  rebellion  that  their  slaves  should  be  free. 

He  read  its  provisions  again  with  the  utmost  care. 
He  made  no  attack  on  Slavery,  or  the  slave-holder.  He 
was  striking  the  blow  against  the  wealth  and  power 
of  the  South  for  the  sole  purpose  of  crippling  her 
resources  and  weakening  her  power  to  continue  the 
struggle  to  divide  the  Union.  There  was  in  it  not  one 
word  concerning  the  rights  of  man  or  the  equal  rights 
black  and  white  men.  His  mind  was  absolutely 
clear  on  that  point.  The  negro  when  freed  would  be 
an  alien  race  so  low  in  the  scale  of  being,  so  utterly 
different  in  temperament  and  character  from  the  white 
man  that  their  remaining  in  physical  contact  with  each 
other  in  our  Republic  was  unthinkable.  In  the  Eman 
cipation  Proclamation  itself,  therefore,  he  had  written 
the  principles  of  the  colonization  of  the  negro  race. 
The  two  things  were  inseparable.  He  could  conceive 
of  no  greater  calamity  befalling  the  Nation  than  to 
leave  the  freed  black  man  within  its  borders  as  an 
eternal  menace  to  its  future  happiness  and  progress. 

274 


THE   CHALLENGE 


He  called  his  Secretary  and  ordered  a  Cabinet  meet 
ing  to  fix  the  date  on  which  to  issue  this  momentous 
document  to  the  world — a  challenge  to  mortal  combat 
to  his  foes  in  all  sections. 


CHAPTER    XVII 


Betty  Winter  held  John  Vaughan's  note  in  her  hand 
staring  at  its  message  with  increasing  amazement: 

"DEAR  LITTLE  SWEETHEART: 

"The  President  has  just  called  General  iwcClellan  again 
to  the  chief  command.  His  act  vindicates  my  loyalty. 
Our  quarrel  is  too  absurd.  Life  is  too  short,  dear,  for 
this — it's  only  long  enough  for  love.  May  I  see  you  at 
once? 

"JOHN." 

Could  it  be  true?  For  a  moment  she  refused  to 
believe  it.  The  President  had  expressed  to  her  his 
deep  conviction  of  McClellan's  guilt.  How  could  he 
reverse  his  position  on  so  vital  and  tremendous  a  mat 
ter  over  night?  And  yet  John  Vaughan  was  incapable 
of  the  cheap  trick  of  lying  to  make  an  engagement. 

A  newsboy  passed  yelling  an  extra. 

"Extra — Extra!  General  McClellan  again  in  the 
saddle!  Extra!" 

It  was  true — he  had  made  the  appointment.  What 
was  its  meaning?  Had  they  forced  the  President  into 
this  humiliating  act?  If  the  General  were  really 
guilty  of  destroying  Pope  and  overwhelming  the  army 
in  defeat,  his  treachery  had  created  the  crisis  which 

276 


THE   DAY'S    WORK 


forced  his  return  to  power.  The  return  under  such 
conditions  would  not  be  a  vindication.  It  would  be 
a  conviction  of  crime. 

She  would  see  the  President  at  once  and  know  the 
truth.  The  question  cut  the  centre  of  John  Vaughan's 
character.  The  orderly  who  brought  the  note  was 
waiting  for  an  answer. 

She  called  from  the  head  of  the  stairs: 

"Tell  Mr.  Vaughan  there  is  no  answer  to-day." 

"Yes,  Miss." 

With  quick  salute  he  passed  out  and  Betty  stood 
irresolute  as  she  listened  to  the  echo  of  his  horse's 
hoof-beat  grow^ig  fainter.  It  was  only  six  o'clock, 
but  the  days  were  getting  shorter  and  it  was  already 
dark.  She  could  walk  quickly  down  Pennsylvania  Ave 
nue  and  reach  the  White  House  before  dinner.  He 
would  see  her  at  any  hour. 

In  five  minutes  she  was  on  the  way  her  mind  in  a 
whirl  of  speculation  on  the  intrigue  which  might  lie 
behind  that  sensational  announcement.  She  was  be 
ginning  to  suspect  her  lover's  patriotism.  A  man 
could  love  the  South,  fight  and  die  for  it  and  be  a 
patriot — he  was  dying  for  what  he  believed  to  be 
right — God  and  his  country.  But  no  man  conld  serve 
two  masters.  Her  blood  boiled  at  the  thought  of  a 
conspiracy  within  the  lines  of  the  Union  whose  pur 
pose  was  to  betray  its  Chief.  If  John  Vaughan  were 
in  it,  she  loved  him  with  every  beat  of  her  heart,  but 
she  would  cut  her  heart  out  sooner  than  sink  to  his 
level ! 

She  became  conscious  at  last  of  the  brazen  stares  of 
scores  of  brutal-looking  men  who  thronged  the  side 
walks  of  the  Avenue. 

277 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Gambling  dens  had  grown  here  like  mushrooms  dur 
ing  the  past  year  of  war's  fevered  life.  The  vice  and 
Berime  of  the  whole  North  and  West  had  poured  into 
Washington,  now  swarming  with  a  quarter  of  a  million 
strange  people. 

The  Capital  was  no  longer  a  city  of  sixty  thousand 
inhabitants,  but  a  vast  frontier  post  and  pay  station 
of  the  army.  And  such  a  pay  station !  Each  day  the 
expenditures  of  the  Government  were  more  than  two 
-millions.  The  air  was  electric  with  the  mad  lust  for 
gain  which  the  scent  of  millions  excites  in  the  nos 
trils  of  the  wolves  who  prey  on  their  fellow  men.  The 
streets  swarmed  with  these  hungry  beasts,  male  and 
female.  They  pushed  and  crowded  and  jostled  each 
other  from  the  sidewalks.  The  roar  of  their  whiskey- 
laden  voices  poured  forth  from  every  bar-room  and 
gambling  den  on  the  Avenue. 

A  fat  contractor  who  had  made  his  pile  in  paste 
board  soles  for  army  shoes  and  sent  more  boys  to 
the  grave  from  disease  than  had  been  killed  in  battle, 
•i  touched  elbows  with  the  hook-nosed  vulture  who  was 
sporting  a  diamond  pin  bought  with  the  profits  of 
shoddy  clothes  that  had  proven  a  shroud  for  many 
a  brave  soldier  sleeping  in  a  premature  grave. 

They  were  laughing,  drinking,  smoking,  swearing, 
gambling  and  all  shouting  for  the  flag — the  flag  that 
was  waving  over  millions  they  hoped  yet  to  share. 

A  feeling  of  sickening  fear  swept  the  girl's  heart. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  afraid  to  be  alone 
on  the  brightly  lighted  streets  of  Washington  at  dusk. 
The  poison  of  death  was  in  the  air.  Every  desperate 
passion  that  stirs  the  brute  in  man  was  written  in  the 
bloodshot  eyes  that  sought  hers.  The  Nation  was  at 

278 


THE   DAY'S    WORK 


war.  To  cheat,  deceive,  entrap,  maim,  kill  the  enemy 
and  lay  his  home  in  desolation  was  the  daily  business 
now  of  the  millions  who  backed  the  Government.  What 
ever  the  lofty  aims  of  either  of  the  contending  hosts, 
they  sought  to  win  by  war  and  this  was  war.  It  was 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  this  spirit  should  begin 
to  poison  the  springs  of  life  in  the  minds  of  the  weak 
and  send  them  forth  to  prey  on  their  fellows.  It  was 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  men  planned  in  secret  to 
advance  their  own  interests  at  the  expense  of  their 
fellows,  to  climb  the  ladder  of  wealth  and  fame  in  this 
black  hour  no  matter  on  whose  dead  bodies  they  had 
to  walk. 

With  a  pang  of  positive  terror  Betty  asked  herself 
the  question  whether  the  man  she  loved  had  been 
touched  by  this  deadly  pestilence?  A  wave  of  horror 
swept  her.  A  drunken  brute  brushed  by  and  thrust 
his  bloated  face  into  hers. 

With  a  cry  of  rage  and  fear  she  turned  and  ran  for 
two  blocks,  left  the  Avenue  at  the  corner  and  hurried 
back  to  her  home. 

She  would  wait  until  morning  and  see  the  President 
before  the  crowd  arrived. 

He  greeted  her  with  a  joyous  shout: 

"Come  right  in,  Miss  Betty!" 

With  long,  quick  stride  he  met  her  and  grasped 
her  hand,  a  kindly  twinkle  in  his  eye: 

"And  how's  our  old  grizzly  bear,  your  father,  this 
morning?" 

"He's  still  alive  and  growling,"  she  laughed. 

The  President  joined  heartily: 

"I'll  bet  he  is,"  he  said,  "and  hates  me  just  as  cor 
dially  as  ever?" 

279 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Betty  nodded. 

"But  his  beautiful  daughter?" 

"Was  never  more  loyal  to  her  Chief!" 

"Good.  Then  my  administration  is  on  a  sound  basis. 
You  want  no  office.  You  ask  no  favors.  Such  clear, 
pure,  young  eyes  in  the  morning  of  life  don't  make  mis 
takes.  They  know." 

"But  I've  come  to  ask  you  something  this  morn 
ing " 

The  smile  faded  into  a  look  of  seriousness. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  quickly. 

Betty  hesitated  and  the  red  blood  slowly  mounted  to 
her  cheeks.  He  led  her  to  a  seat  beside  his  chair, 
touched  her  hand  gently  and  whispered: 

"Tell  me." 

"I  hope  you  won't  think  me  presumptuous,  Mr. 
President,  if  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  why  you  recalled 
General  McClellan?" 

The  rugged  face  suddenly  flashed  with  a  smile. 

"Presumptuous?"  he  laughed.  "My  dear  child  if 
you  could  have  heard  a  few  things  my  Cabinet  had 
to  say  to  me  in  this  room  on  that  subject!  The  tender 
deference  with  which  you  put  the  question  is  the  near 
est  thing  to  an  endorsement  I  have  so  far  received! 
Go  as  far  as  you  like  after  that  opening.  It  will  be 
a  joy  to  discuss  it  with  you.  Presumptuous — Oh, 
my  soul!" 

He  caught  his  knee  between  his  hands  and  rocked 
with  laughter  at  the  memory  of  his  Cabinet  scene. 

Reassured  by  his  manner  Betty  leaned  closer: 

"You  remember  the  morning  you  gave  me  the  pass 
to  Alexandria?" 

"To  see  a  certain  young  man?" 
280 


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"Yes." 

"Perfectly." 

"You  distinctly  gave  me  the  impression  that  morn 
ing  that  you  were  sure  General  McClellan  was  betray 
ing  his  trust  in  his  failure  to  support  General  Pope 
and  that  your  confidence  in  him  was  gone  forever." 

"Did  I?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  it  wasn't  far  from  the  truth,"  he  gravely  ad 
mitted. 

"And  yet  you  recalled  him  to  the  command  of  the 
army?" 

"I  had  to." 

"Had  to?" 

"It  was  the  only  thing  to  do." 

Betty  spoke  in  a  whisper: 

"You  mean  that  their  conspiracy  had  become  so 
dangerous  there  was  no  other  way?" 

He  threw  her  a  searching  look,  was  silent  a  mo 
ment  and  slowly  said: 

"That's  a  pointed  question,  isn't  it?" 

"I'm  a  member  of  your  Cabinet,  you  know " 

"Yes,  I  know — but  why  do  you  happen  to  ask  me 
such  a  dangerous  question  at  this  particularly  trying 
moment?  Come,  my  little  bright  eyes,  out  with  it?" 

"The  certain  young  man  and  I  are  not  very 
happy " 

"You've  quarrelled?" 

"Yes." 

"About  what?" 

"You." 

"You  don't  mean  it,  Miss  Betty?"  he  said  in 
credulously. 

281 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


Her  eyes  were  dim  and  she  nodded. 

"But  why  about  me?" 

"I  saw  things  which  confirmed  your  suspicions.  He 
admitted  his  desire  that  General  Pope  should  fail  and 
defended  McClellan's  indifference.  We  quarrelled.  I 
asked  him  to  resign  from  the  staff  of  his  Chief " 

"You  didn't!"  he  exclaimed  softly,  his  deep  eyes 
shining. 

"I  did — and  he  refused." 

Again  the  big  hands  both  closed  on  hers : 

"God  bless  you,  child!  So  long  as  I  hold  such  faith 
from  hearts  like  yours,  I  know  that  I'm  right.  They 
can  say  what  they  please  about  me " 

"You  see,"  she  broke  in,  "if  he  is  in  this  conspiracy 
and  they  have  forced  you  to  this  surrender,  he  is 
equally  guilty  of  treachery " 

"And  you  hold  him  responsible  for  his  Commander's 
ambitions  ?" 

"Yes." 

The  President  sprang  to  his  feet  and  paced  the  floor 
a  moment,  stopped  and  gazed  at  her  with  a  look  of 
curious  tenderness : 

"By  jinks,  Miss  Betty,  if  I  had  a  few  more  like 
you  in  my  Cabinet  I  wouldn't  be  so  lonesome !" 

"They   did  force  you?"   she   demanded. 

"Not  as  you  mean  it,  my  child.  I'm  not  going  to 
pretend  to  you  that  I  don't  understand  the  serious 
ness  of  the  situation.  The  Army  of  the  Potomac  is 
behind  McClellan  to  a  man.  It  amounts  to  infatuation. 
I  sounded  his  officers.  I  sounded  his  men.  To-day 
they  are  against  me  and  with  him.  If  the  issue  could 
be  sprung — if  the  leaders  dared  to  risk  their  necks 
on  such  a  revolution,  they  might  win.  They  don't 


THE   DAY'S    WORK 


know  this  as  clearly  as  I  do.  Because  they  are  not  so 
well  informed  they  are  afraid  to  move.  I  have  chosen 
to  beat  them  at  their  own  game " 

He  paused  and  laughed: 

"I  hate  to  shatter  your  ideal,  Miss  Betty,  but  I'm 
afraid  there's  something  of  the  fox  in  my  make-up  after 
all.  Will  it  shock  you  to  learn  this?" 

"I  shall  be  greatly  relieved  to  know  it,"  she  re 
sponded  firmly. 

"Think,  then,  for  a  moment.  I  suspend  McClellan 
for  his  failure  and  replace  him  with  a  man  I  believe 
to  be  his  superior.  The  army  sullenly  resent  this 
change.  They  do  not  agree  with  me.  They  believe 
McClellan  the  greatest  General  in  sight.  It's  a  mar 
vellous  thing  this  power  over  men  which  he  possesses. 
It  can  be  used  to  create  a  Nation  or  destroy  one.  It's 
a  dangerous  force.  I  must  handle  it  with  the  utmost 
care.  So  long  as  their  idol  is  a  martyr  the  army  is 
unfit  for  good  service.  The  moment  I  restore  the  old 
commander,  in  whom  both  officers  and  men  have  un 
bounded  faith,  I  show  them  that  I  am  beyond  the 
influence  of  the  political  forces  which  demand  his 
destruction — don't  I?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  moment  I  dare  to  brave  popular  disap 
proval  and  restore  their  commander  don't  you  see  that 
I  win  the  confidence  of  the  army  in  my  fairness  and 
my  disinterested  patriotism?" 

"Of  course." 

"See  then  what  must  happen.  Now  mind  you,  I 
would  never  have  restored  McClellan  to  command  if  I 
did  not  know  that  at  this  moment  he  can  do  the  work 
of  putting  this  disorganized  and  defeated  army  into 

283 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


fighting  shape  better  than  any  other.  McClellan  thus 
returned  to  power  must  fight.  He  must  win  or  lose. 
If  he  wins  I  am  vindicated  and  his  success  is  mine. 
If  he  loses,  he  loses  his  power  over  the  imagination 
of  his  men  and  at  last  I  am  master  of  the  situation. 
I  shall  back  him  with  every  dollar  and  every  man  the 
Nation  can  send  into  his  next  campaign.  No  matter 
whether  he  wins  or  loses,  I  must  win  because  the  su 
premacy  of  the  civil  power  will  be  restored." 

"I   see,"   Betty  breathed   softly. 

She  rose  with  a  new  look  of  reverence  for  a  great 
mind. 

"And  the  civil  power  was  not  supreme  when  you 
restored  McClellan  to  his  command?" 

"Miss  Betty,  you'd  make  a  good  lawyer !"  he  laughed. 

"Was  it?"  she  persisted. 

"No." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  rising  and  extending  her 
hand.  "I  learned  exactly  what  I  wished  to  know." 

"And  you'll  stop  quarreling?" 

"If  he's  reasonable " 

He  lifted  his  long  finger  in  solemn  warning. 

"Remember  now!  This  administration  is  honestly 
and  sincerely  backing  General  McClellan  for  all  it's 
worth.  It  has  always  done  this.  We  are  going  to  try 
to  make  even  a  better  record  in  the  next  cam 
paign " 

"When  will  it  open?" 

"Sooner  than  any  of  us  wish  it,  if  our  scouts  re 
port  the  truth.  Flushed  with  his  great  victory  over 
Pope,  General  Lee  is  sure  to  invade  Maryland.  The 
campaign  will  be  a  dangerous  and  crucial  one.  The 
moment  Lee  crosses  the  Potomac,  his  communications 

284 


THE   DAY'S    WORK 


with  Richmond  will  be  imperiled.  If  he  dares  to  do 
it  we  can  crush  his  army  in  a  great  battle,  cut  his 
communications  with  Richmond,  drive  his  men  into  the 
Potomac  and  end  the  war.  I  have  given  McClellan  the 
opportunity  of  his  life.  I  pray  God  to  give  suc 
cess " 

Edward  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"The   crowd,   sir — they   are    clamoring   to    get   in." 

Betty  hurried  into  the  family  apartments  to  speak 
to  Mrs.  Lincoln,  her  mind  in  a  whirl  of  resentment 
against  John  Vaughan. 

The  President  turned  to  the  crowd  which  had  al 
ready  poured  into  the  room. 

As  usual,  the  cranks  and  inventors  led  the  way.  The 
inventors  found  the  President  an  easy  man  to  talk 
to.  His  mind  was  quick  to  see  a  good  point  and  al 
ways  open  to  conviction.  He  had  once  patented  a 
device  for  getting  flat  boats  over  shoals  himself.  His 
immediate  approval  of  the  first  model  of  Ericsson's 
famous  Monitor  had  led  to  its  adoption  in  time  to  meet 
and  destroy  the  Merrimac  in  Hampton  Roads  on  the 
very  day  the  iron  terror  had  sent  his  big  ships  to  the 
bottom.  He  allowed  no  inventor  to  be  turned  from 
the  door  of  the  White  House  no  matter  how  ridi 
culous  his  hobby  might  appear.  The  inventions  re 
lating  to  the  science  of  war  he  would  test  himself  on 
the  big  open  field  between  the  White  House  grounds  and 
the  river. 

The  first  inventor  in  line  carried  the  model  of  a 
new  rifle  which  would  shoot  sixteen  times.  The  army 
officers  believed  in  the  idea  of  a  single  shell  breech 
loader  on  account  of  the  simplicity  of  its  mechanism. 

285 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Our  muskets  were  still  muzzle  loaders  and  the  men 
were  compelled  to  use  ramrods  to  load. 

The  President  examined  the  new  gun  with  keen 
interest,  pulled  his  black,  shaggy  beard  thoughtfully, 
looked  at  the  breathless  inventor,  and  slowly  mused: 

"Well,  now  as  the  fat  girl  said  when  she  pulled  on 
her  stocking,  it  strikes  me  there's  something  in  it!" 

The  inventor  laughed  with  nervous  joy,  and  watched 
him  write  a  card  of  endorsement: 

"Take  that  to  the  War  Department,  and  tell  them 
I  like  your  idea — I  want  them  to  look  into  it." 

His  face  wreathed  in  smiles,  the  man  pushed  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  and  hurried  to  the  War  Depart 
ment. 

The  next  one  was  a  little  fellow  who  had  a  gun 
of  marvellous  model,  double-barrelled,  with  the  barrels 
crossed.  The  President  adjusted  his  spectacles  and 
took  a  second  look  before  he  made  any  comment.  He 
lifted  his  bristling  eyebrows: 

"What's  it  for?" 

"For  cross-eyed  men,  sir!"  he  whispered. 

"You  don't  say?"  he  roared. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  little  man  continued  eagerly.  "The 
cross-eyed  men  ain't  never  had  no  chance  in  this  war. 
They  turn  'em  all  down.  They  won't  take  'em  as 
soldiers.  That  gun'll  fix  'em.  Push  a  regiment  o' 
good  cross-eyed  men  to  the  front  with  that  gun  a-pour- 
in'  hot  lead  from  two  barrels  at  the  same  time  an' 
every  man  er  cross  firm'  at  the  enemy  an'  we'll  jist 
natchally  make  hash  outen  'em,  sir " 

"And  we  may  need  the  cross-eyed  men,  too,  before 
the  war  ends."  The  sombre  eyes  twinkled  thought 
fully.  "Thank  you,  my  friend,  when  I  draft  the  cross- 

286 


THE   DAY'S    WORK 


eyed  men  come  in  again  and  we'll  talk  it  over.  Your 
heart's  in  the  right  place,  anyhow." 

He  glanced  doubtfully  at  the  little  skillet-shaped 
head  and  reached  over  his  shoulder  for  the  next  one. 
It  was  a  bullet  proof  shirt  for  soldiers — a  coat  of 
mail  which  weighed  fifty  pounds. 

"How  long  do  you  think  a  man  could  march  with 
that  thing  on  and  the  thermometer  at  ninety-eight  in 
the  shade?" 

He  handed  it  back  with  a  shake  of  his  head  and 
grasped  the  next  one — a  model  water-tight  canoe  to 
fit  the  foot  like  a  snow  shoe. 

"What's  the  idea?"  he  asked. 

"Shoe  the  army  with  my  canoes,  sir,  and  they  can 
all  walk  on  water " 

"And  yet  they  say  the  age  of  miracles  has  passed! 
Take  it  over  to  old  Neptune's  office.  He's  a  sad  man 
at  times  and  I  like  him.  This  ought  to  cheer  him." 

The  next  one  was  a  man  of  unusually  interesting 
face.  A  typical  Yankee  farmer  with  whiskers  spilling 
over  his  collar  from  his  neck  and  bristling  up  against 
his  clean  shaven  chin.  He  handed  the  President  a 
model  of  a  new  musket.  He  examined  it  with  care 
and  fixed  the  man  with  his  gaze: 

"Well,   sir?" 

"Hit's  the  rekyle,  sir,"  he  explained  softly.  "Hit's 
the  way  she's  hung  on  the  stock." 

"Oh " 

"Ye  see,  sir,"  he  went  on  earnestly,  "a  gun  ought 
not  to  rekyle,  and  ef  hit  rekyles  at  all,  hit  ought  to 
rekyle  a  leetle  forred " 

"Right  you  are!"  the  President  roared  with  laugh 
ter.  "Your  logic's  sound  whether  your  gun  kicks  or 

287 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


not.  I  say  so,  too.  A  gun  ought  not  to  rekyle  at  all, 
and  if  it  does  rekyle,  by  jinks,  it  ought  to  rekyle  and 
hit  the  other  fellow,  not  us !" 

The  tall  figure  dropped  into  the  chair  by  his  desk 
and  laughed  again. 

"Come  in  again,  Brother  'Rekyle'  and  we'll  talk  it 
over  when  I've  got  more  time." 

The  stocky,  heavy  set  figure  of  the  Secretary  of 
War  suddenly  pushed  through  the  crowd  and  up  to 
the  desk.  Stanton's  manner  had  always  been  rude  to 
the  point  of  brusqueness  and  insult.  The  tremendous 
power  he  was  now  wielding  in  the  most  important  De 
partment  of  the  Government  had  not  softened  his 
temper  or  improved  his  manners.  The  President  had 
learned  to  appreciate  his  matchless  industry  and  ster 
ling  honesty  and  overlooked  his  faults  as  an  indulgent 
father  those  of  a  passionate  and  willful  child. 

Stanton's  eyes  were  flashing  through  his  gold 
rimmed  glasses  the  wrath  he  found  difficult  to  express. 

The  President  looked  up  with  a  friendly  smile: 

"Well,  Mars,  what's  the  trouble  now?" 

Stanton  shook  his  leonine  locks  and  beard  in  fury 
at  the  use  of  the  facetious  word.  He  loathed  levity 
of  any  kind  and  the  one  kind  he  could  not  endure  was 
the  quip  that  came  his  way. 

He  regarded  himself  seriously  every  day,  every  hour, 
every  minute  in  every  hour.  He  was  the  incarnate  soul 
of  Mars  on  earth.  He  knew  and  felt  it.  He  raged  at 
the  President's  use  of  the  term  because  he  had  a  sneak 
ing  idea  that  he  was  being  laughed  at — and  that  by 
a  man  who  was  his  inferior  and  yet  to  whom  he  was 
rendering  indispensable  service. 

An  angry  retort  rose  to  his  lips,  but  he  suppressed 
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the  impulse.  It  was  a  waste  of  breath.  The  President 
was  a  fool — he  would  only  laugh  again  as  he  had  done 
before.  And  so  he  plunged  straight  to  the  purpose  of 
his  call: 

"Before  you  get  to  your  usual  batch  of  passes  and 
paadons  this  morning  I  want  to  protest  again,  Mr. 
President,  against  your  persistent  interference  with 
the  discipline  of  the  army  and  the  affairs  of  my  De 
partment.  Your  pardons  are  hamstringing  the  whole  * 
service,  sir.  It  must  stop  if  you  expect  your  generals 
to  control  their  men !" 

"Is  that  all,  Mars?"  the  even  voice  asked. 

"It  is,  sir!" 

"Thanks  for  the  spirit  that  prompts  your  rage.  I 
know  you're  right  about  most  of  these  things.  I'll  do 
my  best  to  help  and  not  hinder  you " 

"There's  a  woman  coming  here  this  morning  to  pre 
sent  a  petition  over  my  head." 

"Oh,  I  see " 

"I  have  refused  it  and  I  demand  that  you  support, 
not  make  a  fool  of  me." 

He  turned  without  waiting  for  an  answer  and  strode 
from  the  room. 

The  President  whispered  to  Nicolay: 

"We  may  have  to  put  a  few  bricks  in  Stanton's 
pocket  yet,  John!" 

He  glanced  toward  the  waiting  crowd  and  whispered 
again : 

"Any  news  to-day  from  the  front  before  I  go  on?" 

Nicolay  drew  a  telegram  from  his  file: 

"Only  this  dispatch,  sir,  announcing  the  capture  of 
fifty  mules  and  two  brigadier  generals  by  Stuart's 
cavalry " 

289 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Fifty  mules?" 

"And  two  brigadier  generals." 

"Fifty  mules — and  they're  worth  two  hundred  dol 
lars  a  piece.  Tell  'em  to  send  a  regiment  after  those 
mules.  Jeffy  D.  can  have  the  generals." 

A  slender  little  dark-haired  girl  about  fifteen  years 
old,  with  big  wistful  blue  eyes,  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  pause  to  slip  close.  When  the  President  lifted 
his  head  she  caught  his  eyes.  He  rose  immediately 
and  drew  her  to  his  side. 

"You're  all  alone,  little  girl?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  faltered. 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"If  you  please,  I  want  to  pass  through  the  lines 
to  Virginia — my  brother's  there — he  was  shot  in  the 
last  battle.  I  want  to  see  him." 

"Of  course  you  do,"  the  kindly  voice  agreed,  ''and 
you  shall." 

He  wrote  the  pass   and  handed  it  to  her. 

She  murmured  her  thanks  and  he  placed  his  big 
hand  on  her  dark  head  and  asked  casually: 

"Of  course  you're  loyal?" 

The  young  lips  quivered,  she  hesitated,  looked  up 
into  his  face  through  dimmed  eyes,  and  the  slender 
body  suddenly  stiffened,  as  she  slowly  said: 

"Yes — to  the  heart's  core — to  Virginia!" 

The  trembling  fingers  handed  the  pass  back  and 
the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

The  tall  man  dared  not  look  down  again.  Something 
about  this  slim  wistful  girl  brought  back  over  the 
years  the  memory  of  the  young  mother  who  had  come 
from  the  hills  of  old  Virginia. 

He  was  still  for  a  moment,  stooped,  and  took  her 
290 


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hand  in  his.     His  voice  was  low  and  tender  and  full 
of  feeling: 

"I  know  what  it  cost  you  to  say  that,  child.  You're 
a  brave,  glorious  little  girl,  if  you  are  a  rebel.  I  •< 
love  you  for  this  glimpse  you've  given  me  of  a  great 
spirit.  I'm  sure  I  can  trust  you.  If  I  let  you  go, 
will  you  promise  me  faithfully  that  no  word  shall  pass 
your  lips  of  what  you've  seen  inside  our  lines?" 

"I  promise !"  she  cried,  smiling  through  her  tears. 

He  handed  her  back  the  pass  and  slowly  said: 

"May  God  bless  you — and  speed  the  day  when  your 
people  and  mine  shall  be  no  longer  enemies." 

He  turned  again  to  his  desk,  and  beside  it  stood  a 
quiet  woman  dressed  in  black. 

He  bowed  to  her  with  easy  grace : 

"And  how  can  I  serve  you,  Madam?" 

She  smiled  hopefully: 

"You  have   children,  Mr.   President?" 

A  look  of  sorrow  overspread  the  dark  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said  reverently,  "I  have  two  boys  now. 
I  had  three,  but  God  has  just  taken  one  of  them." 

"I  had  two,"  the  mother  responded.  "Both  of  them 
went  into  the  army  to  fight  for  their  country  and  left 
me  alone.  One  has  been  killed  in  battle.  I  tried  to 
be  brave  about  it.  I  said  over  and  over  again,  'the 
Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  has  taken  away,  blessed  is 
the  name  of  the  Lord!'  But  I  had  to  give  up.  I'm 
all  alone  in  my  little  place  in  the  mountains  of  Penn 
sylvania  and  I  can't  endure  it.  I  know  they  say  I 
have  no  right  to  ask,  but  I  want  my  last  boy  to  come 
home.  All  night  I  lie  there  alone  and  cry.  Can't  you 
let  me  have  my  boy  back?  He's  all  I've  got  on  earth — 
others  have  more.  I  have  only  this  one.  I'm  just  a 

291 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


woman — lonely,  heartsick  and  afraid.  They  say  I  can't 
have  him.  But  I've  come  to  ask  you.  I've  heard  that 
you  have  a  loving  heart " 

She  stopped  suddenly. 

"You  have  seen  Stanton?"  the  President  asked. 

"Yes.  He  wouldn't  listen.  He  swore  I  shouldn't 
have  him." 

The  hazel-grey  eyes  gazed  thoughtfully  out  the 
window  across  the  shining  river  for  a  moment. 

"I  have  two,"  he  murmured,  "and  you  have  only 
one.  It  isn't  fair.  You  shall  have  your  boy." 

He  turned  to  his  desk  and  wrote  the  order  for  his 
discharge.  The  mother  pressed  close,  gently  touched 
with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  his  thick  black  hair  and 
softly  cried  while  he  was  writing. 

She  took  the  precious  paper,  tried  to  speak  and 
choked. 

"Go  away  now,"  the  President  whispered,  "or  you'll 
have  me  crying  in  a  minute." 

When  the  last  man  had  gone  he  stood  alone  before 
his  window  in  brooding  silence.  A  tender  smile  over 
spread  his  face  and  he  drew  a  deep  breath.  In  the  hills 
of  Pennsylvania  he  saw  a  picture — a  mother  in  the 
door  of  a  humble  home  waiting  for  her  boy.  He  is 
coming  down  the  road  with  swift,  strong  step.  She 
sees  and  rushes  to  meet  him  with  a  cry  of  joy,  holds 
him  in  her  arms  without  words  a  long,  long  while 
and  will  not  let  him  go.  And  then  she  leads  him 
into  the  house,  falls  on  her  knees  and  thanks  God. 

He  smiles  again  and  forgets  the  burden  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

DIPLOMACY 

In  the  whirlwind  of  passion,  intrigue,  slander  and 
hate  which  had  circled  the  head  of  the  new  President 
since  the  day  of  his  Inauguration,  the  mother  of  his 
children  had  not  been  spared. 

The  First  Lady  of  the  Land  had  found  her  position 
as  difficult  in  its  way  as  her  husband  had  found  his. 
She  had  met  the  cynical  criticism  at  first  with  dignity, 
reserve,  and  contempt.  But  as  it  increased  in  violence 
and  virulence  she  had  more  than  once  lost  her  temper. 
She  had  never  been  blessed  with  the  serenity  of  spirit  * 
that  with  Lincoln  in  his  trying  hours  touched  the 
heights  of  genius. 

She  was  just  a  human  little  woman  who  loved  her  * 
husband  devotedly  and  hated  every  man  and  woman 
who  hated  him.    And  when  her  patience  was  exhausted 
she  said  things  as  she  thought  them,  with  a  contempt 
for   consequences   as   sublime   as   it  was   dangerous. 

From  the  moment  of  the  opening  of  the  war  she 
hated  the  South,  not  only  because  the  Southern  people 
had  flung  the  shadow  of  death  over  her  splendid  social 
career  and  blighted  the  brightest  dream  of  her  life 
by  war,  but  she  had  a  more  intimate  and  personal 
reason  for  this  hatred.  Her  own  flesh  and  blood  had 
gone  into  the  struggle  against  her  and  the  husband 
she  loved.  Both  her  brothers  born  in  the  South,  were 

293 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


in  the  Confederate  army  fighting  to  tear  the  house 
down  over  her  head.  One  of  these  brothers  had  been 
made  the  Commandant  of  Libby  Prison  in  Richmond. 
The  woman  in  her  could  never  forgive  them. 

And  yet  men  in  the  North  who  sought  the  destruc 
tion  of  her  husband  saw  how  they  might  use  the  fact 
of  her  Southern  kin  to  their  own  gain,  and  did  it  with 
the  most  cruel  and  bitter  malignity. 

One  thing  she  was  determined  to  do — maintain  her 
position  in  a  way  to  put  it  beyond  the  reach  of  petty 
spite  and  gossip.  She  had  always  resented  the  im 
putation  of  boorishness  and  lack  of  culture  his  enemies 
had  made  against  the  man  she  loved.  She  held  it  her 
first  duty,  therefore,  to  maintain  her  place  as  the  First 
Lady  of  the  Land  in  a  way  that  would  still  those 
slanderous  tongues.  For  this  reason  her  dresses  had 
been  the  most  elaborate  and  expensive  the  wife  of  any 
Chief  Magistrate  of  the  Republic  had  ever  worn.  Her 
big-hearted,  careless  husband  had  no  more  idea  of  the 
cost  of  such  things  than  a  new-born  babe. 

Lizzie  Garland,  the  negro  dressmaker,  to  whom  she 
had  given  her  patronage,  practically  spent  her  entire 
time  with  the  President's  wife,  who  finally  became  so 
contemptuous  of  unreasonable  public  criticism  in  Wash 
ington  that  she  was  often  seen  going  to  Lizzie  Gar 
land's  house  to  be  fitted. 

As  Lizzie  bent  over  her  work  basting  the  new  seams 
in  fitting  her  last  dress,  the  Mistress  of  the  White 
House  suddenly  stopped  the  nervous  movement  of 
her  rocking-chair. 

"He  demands  a  thousand  dollars  to-night,  Lizzie?" 

"Swears  he'll  take  the  whole  account  to  the  Presi 
dent  to-morrow  unless  he  gets  it,  Madam." 

294 


DIPLOMACY 


"You  tried  to  make  him  reasonable?" 

"Begged  him  for  an  hour." 

"That's  what  I  get  for  trading  with  a  little  rat 
in  Philadelphia.  I'll  stick  to  Stewart  hereafter." 

She  rose  with  a  gesture  of  nervous  rage: 

"Well,  there's  no  help  for  it  then.  I  must  ask  him. 
I  dread  it.  Mr.  Lincoln  calls  me  a  child — a  spoiled  / 
child.  He's  the  child.  He  has  no  idea  of  what  these 
things  cost.  Why  can't  a  Nation  that  spends  two 
millions  a  day  on  contractors  and  soldiers  give  its 
President  a  salary  he  can  live  on?" 

She  threw  herself  on  the  lounge  and  gave  way  for 
a  moment  to  despair. 

"He'll  give  it  to  you,  of  course,  when  you  ask  it," 
Lizzie  ventured  cheerfully. 

"If  I'm  diplomatic,  yes.     But  I  hate  to  do  it.     He's 
harassed  enough.     I  wonder  sometimes  if  he's  human  , 
to  stand  all  he  does.     If  he  knew  the  truth — O  my 
God " 

"Don't  worry,  Madam,"  Lizzie  pleaded.  "It  will 
come  out  all  right.  The  President  is  sure  to  be  re- 
elected." 

"That's  it,  is  he?  I'm  beginning  to  lose  faith.  He'll 
never  win  if  the  scoundrels  in  Washington  can  prevent 
it.  There's  just  one  man  in  Congress  his  real  friend. 
I  can't  make  him  see  that  the  hypocrites  he  keeps  in 
his  Cabinet  are  waiting  and  watching  to  stab  him  in 
the  back.  But  what's  the  use  to  talk,  I've  got  to  face 
it  to-day — ask  Phoebe  to  come  here." 

"Let  me  go,  Madam,"  Lizzie  begged.  "I  hate  the 
sight  of  that  woman.  I  suspect  her  of  nosing  into 
our  affairs." 

"Nonsense!"      was      the      contemptuous      answer. 
295 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Phoebe's  just  a  big,  fat,  black,  good-natured  fool. 
It  rests  me  to  look  at  her — she's  so  much  fatter  than 
I  am." 

With  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders  the  dressmaker  rose 
and  rang  for  the  colored  maid,  who  had  just  entered 
Mrs.  Lincoln's  service. 

Phoebe  walked  in  with  a  glorious  smile  lighting  her 
dusky  face.  Seeing  her  mistress  lying  down  at  the 
unusual  hour  of  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  she 
rushed  to  her  side: 

"Laws  of  mussy,  Ma'am,  ain't  you  well !" 

"Just  a  little  spell  of  nerves,  Phoebe,  something  that 
never  worries  your  happy  soul " 

"No,  Ma'am,  dat  dey  don't!"  the  black  woman 
laughed. 

"Hand  me  a  pencil  and  pad  of  paper." 

Phoebe  executed  her  order  with  quick  heavy  tread, 
and  stood  looking  while  her  mistress  scribbled  a  note 
to  her  husband. 

"Take  that  to  the  President,  and  see  that  he  comes." 

Phoebe  courtesied  heavily : 

"Yassam,  I  fetch  him!" 

The  Hon.  Salmon  P.  Chase,  Secretary  of  the  Treas 
ury,  was  engaged  with  the  President  when  Phoebe  pre 
sented  herself  at  the  door  of  the  executive  office. 

John  Hay  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  her  to  wait  a 
few  minutes.  Phoebe  brushed  the  young  diplomat  aside 
with  scant  ceremony. 

"G'way  fum  here,  Boy!"  she  laughed.  "Miss  Ma'y 
sent  me  ter  fetch  'im  right  away.  An'  I  gwine  ter 
fetch  'im!" 

She  threw  her  ponderous  form  straight  through  the 
the  door  and  made  for  the  Chief  Magistrate. 

296 


DIPLOMACY 


Mr.  Chase  was  delivering  an  important  argument, 
but.it  had  no  weight  with  her. 

She  bowed  and  courtesied  to  the  President. 

"Excuse  me,  Governor,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "Good 
morning,  Phoebe." 

"Good  mornin',  sah." 

She  extended  the  note  with  a  second  dip  of  her 
ponderous  form: 

"Yassah,  Miss  Ma'y  send  dis  here  excommunication  / 
ter  you,  sah!" 

"You  don't  say  so?"  the  President  cried,  breaking 
into  a  laugh. 

"Yassah." 

"Then  I'm  excommunicated,  Governor!"  he  nodded 
to  Chase.  "I  must  read  the  edict."  He  adjusted  his 
glasses  and  glanced  at  the  note: 

"Your  mistress  is  lying  down?" 

"Yassah,  she's  sufferin'  fum  a  little  spell  er  nervous 
prosperity,  sah — dat's  all — sah " 

"Oh,   that's    all?" 

"Yassah." 

The  President  roared  with  laughter,  in  which  Phoebe 
joined. 

"Thank  you,  Phoebe,  tell  her  I'll  be  there  in  a 
minute " 

"Yassah." 

"And  Phoebe " 

The  maid  turned  as  she  neared  the  door: 

"Yassah?" 

"I  hope  you'll  always  bring  my  messages  from  your 
mistress " 

"Yassah." 

"I  like  you,  Phoebe.    You're  cheerful!"  „ 

297 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"I  tries  ter  be,  sail!"  she  laughed,  swinging  herself 
through  the  door. 

The  President  threw  his  big  hands  behind  his  head, 
leaned  back,  and  laughed  until  his  giant  frame  shook. 

The  dignified  and  solemn  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
scowled,  rose,  and  stalked  from  the  room. 

"Sorry  I  couldn't  talk  longer,  Chase." 

"It's  all  right,"  the  Secretary  replied,  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand. 

The  President  found  his  wife  alone. 

"I  hope  nothing  serious,  Mother?"  he  said  tenderly. 

"I've  a  miserable  headache  again.  Why  were  you  so 
long?' 

"I  was  with  Governor  Chase." 

"And  what  did  the  old  snake  in  the  grass  want 
this  time?" 

The  President  glanced  toward  the  door  uneasily,  sat 
down  by  her  side  and  touched  her  hand: 

"You  should  be  more  careful,  Mother.  Servants 
shouldn't  hear  you  say  things  like  that " 

The  full  lips  came  together  with  bitter  firmness: 

"I'll  say  just  what  I  think  when  I'm  talking  to  you, 
Father — what  did  he  want?" 

"He  offered  his  resignation  as  my  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury." 

His  wife  sprang  up  with  flashing  eyes: 

"And  you?" 

"Refused  to  accept  it." 

"O  my  Lord,  you're  too  good  and  simple  for  this 
world!  You're  a  babe — a  babe  in  the  woods  with 
wolves  prowling  after  you  from  every  tree  and  you 
won't  see  them!  You  know  that  he's  a  candidate 
against  you  for  the  Presidency,  don't  you?" 

298 


DIPLOMACY 


"Yes." 

"You  know  that  he  never  loses  an  opportunity  to 
sneer  at  you  behind  your  back?" 

"I've  heard  so." 

"You  know  that  he's  hand  in  glove  with  the  con 
spirators  in  Congress  who  are  trying  to  pull  you 
down?" 

"Perhaps." 

"You  know  that  he's  the  greatest  letter  writer  of 
the  age?  That  he  writes  as  many  letters  to  your  gen 
erals  in  the  field  as  old  Winter — that  he  writes  to  every 
editor  he  knows  and  every  politician  he  can  influence, 
and  that  the  purpose  of  these  letters  is  always  the 
same — to  pull  you  down?" 

"Possibly." 

"You  have  this  chance  to  put  your  foot  on  this 
frozen  snake's  head  and  yet  you  bring  him  into  your 
house  again  to  warm  him  into  life?" 

"Chase  is  a  great  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  my 
dear.  The  country  needs  him.  I  can't  afford  to  take 
any  chances  just  now  of  a  change  for  the  worse." 

"He  has  no  idea  of  leaving.  He's  only  playing  a 
game  with  you  to  strengthen  himself — can't  you  see 
this?" 

"Maybe." 

"And  yet  you  submit  to  such  infamy  in  your  own 
Cabinet?" 

"It's  not  a  crime,  Mother,  to  aspire  to  high  office. 
The  bee  is  in  poor  Chase's  bonnet.  He  can't  help  it. 
I've  felt  the  thing  tickle  myself.  If  he  can  beat  me 
let  the  best  man  win " 

"Don't — don't — don't  say  such  fool  things,"  his  wife 
cried.  "I'll  scream!  You  need  a  guardian.  You  have 

299 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


three  men  in  your  Cabinet  who  are  using  their  posi 
tions  to  climb  into  the  Presidency  over  you — old 
Seward,  Chase  and  now  Stanton,  and  you  smile  and 
smile  and  let  them  think  you  don't  know.  You'll  never 
have  a  united  and  powerful  administration  until  you 
kick  those  scoundrels  out " 

"Mother — Mother — you  mustn't " 

"I  will — I'll  tell  you  the  truth — nobody  else  does. 
I  tell  you  to  kick  these  scoundrels  out  and  put  men 
in  their  places  who  will  loyally  support  you  and  your 
policies !" 

"I've  no  right  in  such  an  hour  to  think  of  my  own 
ambitions,  my  dear,"  was  the  even,  quiet  answer. 
"Seward  is  the  best  man  for  his  place  I  know  in  the 
country.  Stanton  is  making  the  most  efficient  War 
Secretary  we  have  ever  had.  Chase  is  a  great  manager 
of  our  Treasury.  I'm  afraid  to  risk  a  new  man.  If 
these  men  can  win  over  me  by  rendering  their  country 
a  greater  service  than  I  can,  they  ought  to  win " 

"But  can't  you  see,  you  big  baby,  that  it  isn't  the 
man  who  really  gives  the  greatest  service  that  may 
win?  It's  the  liar  and  hypocrite  undermining  his 
Chief  who  may  win.  Won't  you  have  common  sense 
and  send  those  men  about  their  business?  Surely  you 
won't  lose  this  chance  to  get  rid  of  Chase.  Won't  you 
accept  his  resignation?" 

"No." 

There  was  a  moment's  tense  silence.  The  wife  looked 
up  appealingly  and  the  rugged  hand  touched  hers 
gently. 

"I  think,  Father,  you're  the  most  headstrong  man 
that  God  ever  made !" 

The   dark,   wistful    face    brightened: 
300 


DIPLOMACY 


"And  yet  they  say  I'm  a  good-natured,  easy-going 
fellow  with  no  convictions?" 

"They  don't  know  you " 

"I'm  sorry,  Mother,  we  don't  see  it  the  same  way, 
but  one  of  us  has  to  decide  these  things,  and  I  sup 
pose  I'm  the  one." 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  admitted  wearily. 

"But  tell  me,"  he  cried  cheerfully,  "what  can  I  do 
right  now  to  make  you  happy?  You  sent  for  me  for 
something.  You  didn't  know  that  Chase  was  there,  did 
you?" 

She  hesitated  and  answered  cautiously: 

"It  doesn't  matter  whether  I  did  or  not.  You 
refuse  to  listen  to  my  advice." 

He  bent  nearer  in  evident  distress : 

"What  can  I  do,  Mother?" 

"I  need  some  money.  Since  Willie's  death  last  winter 
I've  thought  nothing  of  my  dresses  for  the  next  season. 
I  must  begin  to  attend  to  them.  I  need  a  thousand 
dollars." 

"To-day?" 

"Yes." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  twinkle  playing  around  the 
corner  of  his  eyes  as  he  slowly  rose : 

"Send  Phoebe  in  for  the  check." 

"Ring  for  her,  please." 

He  pulled  the  old-fashioned  red  cord  vigorously, 
walked  back  to  the  lounge,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  looked  at  his  wife  in  a  comical  way. 

"Mother,"  he  said  at  last,  "you're  a  very  subtle 
woman.  You'd  make  a  great  diplomat  if  you  didn't 
talk  quite  so  much." 

301 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE   REBEL 

While  Betty  Winter  was  still  brooding  in  angry  re 
sentment  over  the  problem  of  John  Vaughan's  guilt  in 
sharing  the  treason  of  his  Chief,  the  army  was  sud 
denly  swung  into  the  field  to  contest  Lee's  invasion  of 
Maryland. 

The  daring  venture  of  the  Confederate  leader  had 
developed  with  startling  rapidity.  The  President  was 
elated  over  the  probable  annihilation  of  his  army.  He 
knew  that  half  of  them  were  practically  barefooted 
and  in  rags.  He  also  knew  that  McClellan  outnum 
bered  Lee  and  Jackson  two  to  one  and  that  the  South 
erners,  no  longer  on  the  defensive,  but  aggressors, 
would  be  at  an  enormous  disadvantage  in  Maryland 
territory. 

That  Lee  was  walking  into  a  death  trap  he  was 
morally  sure. 

The  Confederate  leader  was  not  blind  to  the  dangers 
of  his  undertaking.  Conditions  in  the  South  practically 
forced  the  step.  It  was  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
he  should  have  full  and  accurate  information  before 
his  move,  and  a  group  of  the  coolest  and  bravest  young 
men  in  his  army  were  called  on  to  go  into  Washington 
as  scouts  and  spies  and  bring  this  report.  Men  who 
knew  the  city  were  needed. 

302 


THE   REBEL 


Among  the  ten  selected  for  the  important  mission 
was  Ned  Vaughan.  He  had  been  promoted  for  gal 
lantry  on  the  field  at  Malvern  Hill,  and  wore  the  stripes 
of  a  lieutenant.  He  begged  for  the  privilege  of  risk 
ing  his  life  in  this  work  and  his  Colonel  could  not 
deny  him.  He  had  proven  on  two  occasions  his  skill 
on  secret  work  as  a  scout  before  the  second  battle  of 
Bull  Run.  His  wide  circle  of  friends  in  Washington 
and  the  utter  change  in  his  personal  appearance  by  the 
growth  of  a  beard  made  his  chances  of  success  the 
best  of  any  man  in  the  group. 

He  was  anxious  to  render  his  country  the  greatest 
possible  service  in  such  a  crisis,  but  there  was  another 
motive  of  resistless  power.  He  was  mad  to  see  Betty 
Winter.  He  knew  her  too  well  to  believe  that  if  he 
took  his  life  in  his  hand  to  look  into  her  eyes  she 
could  betray  him. 

His  disguise  in  the  uniform  of  a  Federal  Captain 
was  perfect,  his  forged  pass  beyond  suspicion.  He 
passed  the  lines  of  the  Union  army  unchallenged  and 
spent  his  first  night  in  Washington  in  Joe  Hall's 
famous  gambling  saloon  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue.  He 
arrived  too  late  to  make  any  attempt  to  see  Betty. 
He  stood  for  half  an  hour  on  the  corner  of  the  street, 
gazing  with  wistful  eyes  at  the  light  in  her  window. 
He  dared  not  call  and  involve  her  in  the  possibility 
of  suspicion.  He  must  wait  with  caution  until  she 
left  the  house  and  he  could  speak  to  her  without  being 
recognized.  If  he  failed  to  get  this  chance  he  would 
write  her  as  a  last  resort. 

In  Hall's  place  he  found  scores  of  Congressmen  and 
men  from  every  department  of  the  Government  service. 
Old  Thaddeus  Stevens,  the  leader  of  the  war  party  in 

303 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


the  House,  was  playing  for  heavy  stakes,  his   sullen 
hard  face  set  with  grim  determination. 

He  watched  a  young  clerk  from  the  War  Depart 
ment  stake  his  last  dollar,  lose,  and  stagger  from  the 
table  with  a  haunted,  desperate  look.  Ned  followed 
him  into  two  saloons  and  saw  the  bartenders  refuse 
him  credit.  He  walked  through  the  door  of  the  last 
saloon,  his  legs  trembling  and  his  white  lips  twitching, 
stopped  and  leaned  against  the  wall  of  the  little  book 
store  on  the  corner,  the  flickering  street  lamp  showing 
dimly  his  ghastly  face  and  eyes. 

Ned  glanced  uneasily  behind  him  to  see  that  he  had 
not  been  followed.  He  had  left  under  the  impression 
that  a  secret  service  man  had  seen  them  both  leave. 
He  knew  that  Baker,  the  head  of  the  Department, 
might  know  the  name  of  every  clerk  who  frequented 
a  gambling  den.  No  one  was  in  sight  and  he  debated 
for  a  moment  the  problem  of  offering  this  boy  the 
bribe  to  get  from  Stanton's  office  the  information  he 
wanted. 

It  was  a  question  of  character  and  his  judgment 
of  it.  Could  he  speak  the  word  to  this  boy  that  might 
send  one  or  both  to  the  gallows?  He  was  well  born. 
His  father  was  a  man  of  sterling  integrity  and  a  firm 
supporter  of  the  Union.  The  boy  was  twenty-two 
years  old  and  had  been  a  pet  in  the  fast  circle  of  so 
ciety  in  which  he  had  moved  for  the  last  three  years. 
If  his  love  for  his  country  were  the  real  thing,  he 
would  hand  Ned  over  as  a  spy  without  a  moment's 
hesitation.  If  the  mania  for  gambling  had  done  its 
work  he  would  do  anything  for  money. 

Ned's  own  life  was  in  the  decision.  He  took  another 
look  into  the  haggard  face  and  made  up  his  mind. 

304 


THE   REBEL 


He  started  on  as  if  to  pass  him,  stopped  suddenly 
and  extended  his  hand: 

"Hello,  Dick,  what's  up?" 

The  boy  glowered  at  him  and  answered  with  a  snarl : 

"I  don't  know  you " 

Ned  drew  a  sigh  of  relief.  One  danger  was  passed. 
He  couldn't  recognize  him.  The  rest  should  be  easy. 

"You  don't  need  to,  my  boy,"  he  whispered.  "You're 
looking  for  a  friend — money?" 

"Yes.  I'll  sell  my  soul  into  hell  for  it  right  now," 
he  gasped. 

"You  don't  need  to  do  that."  Ned  drew  two  hun 
dred  dollars  in  gold  from  his  pocket  and  clinked  the 
coin. 

"You  see  that  gold?" 

"Yes,  yes — what  do  you  want  for  it?" 

"I  want  you  to  get  for  me  to-morrow  morning  the 
exact  number  of  men  in  McClellan's  army.  I  want  the 
figures  from  Stanton's  office — you  understand.  I  want 
the  name  of  each  command,  its  numbers  and  its  of 
ficers.  I  know  already  half  of  them.  So  you  can't 
lie  to  me.  Give  me  this  information  here  to-morrow 
night  and  the  gold  is  yours.  Will  you  do  it?" 

The  boy  glanced  at  Ned  for  a  moment: 

"I'll  see  you  in  hell  first.  I've  a  notion  to  arrest 
you — damned  if  I  don't " 

He  wheeled  and  started  toward  the  corner. 

Ned's  left  hand  gripped  his  with  the  snap  of  a 
steel  trap,  his  right  holding  his  revolver. 

"Don't  you  be  a  fool.  I  know  that  you're  ruined. 
I  saw  you  in  Joe  Hall's " 

The  boy's  jaw  dropped. 

"You  saw  me?"  he  stammered. 
305 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Yes.  You're  done  for,  and  you  know  it.  Bring 
me  those  figures  and  I'll  double  the  pile — four  hundred 
dollars." 

The  weak  eyes  shifted  uneasily.  He  hesitated  and 
faltered : 

"All  right.  Meet  me  here  at  seven  o'clock.  For 
God's  sake,  don't  speak  to  me  if  there's  anyone  in 
sight." 

All  next  day  Ned  watched  Betty's  house  in  vain.  At 
dark,  in  despair  and  desperation,  he  wrote  a  note. 

"DEAR  Miss  BETTY: 

"For  one  look  into  your  dear  eyes  I  am  here.  I've 
tried  in  vain  to  meet  you.  I  can't  leave  without  seeing 
you.  I'll  wait  in  the  park  at  the  foot  of  the  avenue  to 
morrow  night  at  dusk.  Just  one  touch  of  your  hand  and 
five  minutes  near  you  is  all  I  ask " 

There  was  no  signature  needed.  She  would  know. 
He  mailed  it  and  hurried  to  his  appointment. 

The  boy  was  prompt.  There  was  no  one  in  sight. 
Ned  hurriedly  examined  the  sheet  of  paper,  verified 
the  known  commands  and  their  numbers  and,  convinced 
of  its  genuineness,  handed  the  money  to  the  traitor. 

"For  God's  sake,  never  speak  to  me  again  or  recog 
nize  me  in  any  way,"  he  begged  through  chattering 
teeth.  "I  got  those  things  from  Stanton's  desk  and 
copied  them." 

Ned  nodded,  placed  the  precious  document  in  his 
pocket,  and  watched  the  fool  hurry  with  swift  feet 
straight  to  Joe  Hall's  place  and  disappear  within. 

Betty  failed  to  come  at  the  appointed  time  and  he 
was  heartsick.  He  would  finish  his  work  in  six  hours 

306 


THE  REBEL 


to-morrow  and  he  should  not  lose  a  moment  in  passing 
the  Federal  lines.  The  precious  figures  he  had  bought 
were  memorized  and  the  paper  destroyed.  In  six  hours 
next  day  he  completed  the  drawings  of  the  fort  on 
which  information  had  been  asked  and  was  ready  to 
leave. 

But  he  had  not  seen  Betty.  He  tried  to  go  and 
each  effort  only  led  him  to  the  corner  from  which 
he  watched  her  house.  He  lingered  until  night  and 
waited  an  hour  again  in  the  park.  And  still  she  had 
not  come.  And  then  it  slowly  dawned  on  him  that  she 
must  have  realized  from  the  moment  she  read  his  mes 
sage  the  peril  of  his  position  and  the  danger  of  his 
betrayal  in  their  meeting. 

He  turned  with  quick,  firm  tread  to  pass  the  Federal 
lines  without  delay,  and  walked  into  the  arms  of  two 
secret  service  men. 

Without  a  word  he  was  manacled  and  led  to  prison. 
The  boy  he  had  bribed  had  been  under  suspicion  since 
his  first  visits  to  Joe  Hall's.  Stanton  had  discovered 
that  his  desk  had  been  rummaged.  Five  of  his  nine 
Southern  comrades  had  been  arrested  and  he  was  the 
sixth.  The  rage  of  the  Secretary  of  War  had  been 
boundless.  He  had  thrown  out  a  dragnet  of  detectives 
and  every  suspicious  character  in  the  city  was  passing 
through  it  or  landing  in  prison. 

The  men  stripped  him  and  searched  with  the  touch 
of  experts  every  stitch  of  his  clothing,  ripped  the  lining 
of  his  coat,  opened  the  soles  of  his  shoes,  split  the 
heels  and  found  nothing.  He  had  been  ordered  to 
dress  and  given  permission  to  go,  when  suddenly  the 
officer  conducting  the  search  said: 

"Wait!" 

307 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Ned  stopped  in  the  doorway.  It  was  useless  to  pro 
test. 

"Excuse  my  persistence,  my  friend,"  he  said  apolo 
getically.  "You  seem  all  right  and  my  men  have  ap 
parently  made  a  mistake,  all  the  same  I'm  going  to 
examine  your  mouth " 

Ned's  eyes  suddenly  flashed  and  his  figure  unconsci 
ously  stiffened. 

"I  thought  so !"  the  officer  laughed. 

The  door  was  closed  and  the  guard  stepped  before 
it. 

And  then,  with  quick  sure  touch  as  if  he  saw  the 
object  of  his  search  through  the  flesh,  the  detective 
lifted  Ned  Vaughan's  upper  lip  and  drew  from  be 
tween  his  lips  and  teeth  the  long,  thin,  delicately  folded 
tinfoil  within  which  lay  the  tissue  drawing  of  the  fort. 

The  drumhead  court-martial  which  followed  was 
brief  and  formal.  The  prisoner  refused  to  give  his 
name  or  any  clue  to  his  identity.  He  was  condemned 
to  be  hanged  as  a  spy  at  noon  the  next  day  and  locked 
in  a  cell  in  the  Old  Capitol  Prison. 

On  his  way  they  passed  Senator  Winter's  house. 
Six  hours'  delay  just  to  look  into  her  face  had  cost  him 
his  life,  but  his  one  hopeless  regret  now  was  that  he 
had  failed  to  see  her. 

Betty  Winter  read  the  account  of  the  sensational 
arrest  and  death  sentence.  He  had  been  arrested  at 
the  trysting  place  he  had  appointed.  She  dropped  the 
paper  with  a  cry  and  hurried  to  the  White  House.  She 
thanked  God  for  the  loving  heart  that  dwelt  there. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  the  President  ordered 
a  suspension  of  sentence  and  directed  that  the  papers 
be  sent  to  him  for  review. 

308 


THE   REBEL 


In  vain  Stanton  raged.  He  shook  his  fist  in  the 
calm,  rugged  face  at  last: 

"Dare  to  interfere  with  the  final  execution  of  this 
sentence  and  I  shall  resign  in  five  minutes  after  you 
issue  that  pardon!  I'll  stand  for  some  things — but 
not  for  this — I  warn  you!" 

"I  understand  your  position,  Stanton,"  was  the 
quiet  answer.  "And  I'll  let  you  know  my  decision 
when  I've  reached  it." 

With  a  muttered  oath,  the  Secretary  of  War  left 
the  room. 

Betty  bent  close  to  his  desk  and  whispered : 
"You'll  give  me  three  days  to  get  his  mother  here?" 
"Of  course  I  will,  child,  six  days  if  it's  necessary. 
Get  word  to  her.     If  I  can't  save  him,  she  can  say 
good-bye  to  her  boy.     That  can't  hurt  anybody,  can 
it?" 

With  a  warm  grasp  of  his  hand  Betty  flew  to  the 
telegraph  office  and  three  days  later  she  saw  for  the 
first  time  the  broken-hearted  mother.  The  resemblance 
was  so  startling  between  the  mother  and  both  sons 
she  couldn't  resist  the  impulse  to  throw  her  arms 
around  her  neck. 

"I    came    alone,    dear,"    the   mother    said    brokenly, 
"because  his  father  is  so  bitter.     You  see  we're  divided 
at  home,  too.     I'm  with  John  in  his  love  for  the  Union* 
— but  his  father  is  bitter  against  the  war.     It  would 
do  no  good  for  him  to  come.     He  hates  the  President 
and  says  he's  responsible  for  all  the  blood  and  suffer 
ing — and  so  I'm  alone — but  you'll  help  me?" 
"Yes,  I'll  help  and  we'll  fight  to  win." 
The  mother  held  her  at  arms'  length  a  moment : 
"How  sweet  and  beautiful  you  are!     How  happy  I 
309 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


am  that  you  love  my  John!     I'm  proud  of  you.     Is 
John  here?" 

Betty's  face  clouded: 

"No.      I   telegraphed   him   to   come.      He   answered 
*that  a  great  battle  was  about  to  be  fought  and  that 
it  was  absolutely  useless  to  ask  for  pardon " 

"But  it  isn't— is  it,  dear?" 

"No,  we'll  fight.     John  doesn't  know  the  President 
r  as  I  do.     We'll  never  give  up — you  and  I — Mother!" 

Again  they  were  in  each  other's  arms  in  silence. 
The  older  woman  held  her  close. 

And  then  came  the  long,  hard  fight. 

The  President  heard  the  mother's  plea  with  tender 
patience  and  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"I'm  sorry,  dear  Madam,"  he  said  at  last,  "to 
find  this  case  so  dangerous  and  difficult.  Our  army 
is  approaching  a  battle.  Tremendous  issues  hang  on 
the  results.  It  looks  now  as  if  this  battle  may  end 
the  war.  The  enemy  have  as  good  right  to  send  their 
brave  scouts  and  spies  among  us  to  learn  our  secrets 
as  we  have  to  send  ours  to  learn  theirs.  They  kill  our 
boys  without  mercy  when  captured.  I  have  just  asked 
Jefferson  Davis  to  spare  the  life  of  one  of  the  noblest 
and  bravest  men  I  have  ever  known.  He  was  caught 
in  Richmond  on  a  daring  errand  for  his  country. 
They  refused  and  executed  him.  How  can  I  face 
my  Secretary  of  War  with  such  a  pardon  in  my 
hands?" 

The  mother's  head  drooped  lower  with  each  sorrow 
ful  word  and  when  the  voice  ceased  she  fell  on  her 
knees,  with  clasped  hands  and  streaming  eyes  in  a 
voiceless  prayer  whose  dumb  agony  found  the  Presi 
dent's  heart  more  swiftly  and  terribly  than  words. 

310 


THE   REBEL 


"O  my  dear  little  mother,  you  mustn't  do  that !"  he 
protested,  seizing  her  hands  and  lifting  her  to  her 
feet.  "You  mustn't  kneel  to  me,  I'm  not  God — I'm 
just  a  distracted  man  praying  from  hour  to  hour  and 
day  to  day  for  wisdom  to  do  what's  right !  I  can't 
stand  this — you  mustn't  do  such  things — they  kill 
me!" 

He  threw  his  big  hands  into  the  air  with  a  gesture 
of  despair,  his  face  corpse-like  in  its  ashen  agony.  He 
took  a  step  from  her  "and  leaned  against  the  long  table 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  for  support. 

Betty  whispered  something  in  the  mother's  ear  and 
led  her  near  again. 

"If  you'll  just  give  my  boy  to  me  alive,"  she  went 
on  in  low  anguish,  "I'll  take  him  home  and  keep  him 
there  and  I'll  pledge  my  life  that  he  will  never  again 
take  up  arms  against  the  Union " 

"You  can  guarantee  me  that?"  he  interrupted,  hold 
ing  her  gaze. 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  He's  noble,  high-spirited,  the 
soul  of  honor.  He  was  always  good  and  never 
gave  me  an  hour's  sorrow  in  his  life  until  this  war 
came " 

The  long  arm  suddenly  swung  toward  his  Secre 
tary: 

"Have  the  prisoner,  Ned  Vaughan,  brought  here  im 
mediately.  When  he  comes,  Madam,  I'll  see  what  can 
be  done." 

With  a  sob  of  joy  the  mother  leaned  against  Betty, 
who  took  her  out  into  the  air  until  the  wagon  from 
the  jail  should  come. 

They  had  led  Ned  quickly  into  the  President's  of 
fice  before  his  mother  and  Betty  knew  of  his  arrival. 

311 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


His  wrists  were  circled  with  handcuffs.  The  President 
looked  over  his  spectacles  at  the  irons  and  spoke 
sharply  : 

"Take  those  things  off  him " 

The  guard  hesitated,  and  the  high  pitched  voice  rang 
with  angry  authority: 

"Take  off  those  handcuffs,  I  tell  you.  His  mother'll 
be  here  in  a  minute — take  'em  off !" 

The  guard  quickly  removed  the  manacles  and  the 
President  turned  to  him  and  his  attendants: 

"Clear  out  now.     I'll  call  you  when  I  want  you." 

Ned  bowed: 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"I  hope  I  can  do  more  than  that  for  you,  my  boy. 
It  all  depends  on  you " 

The  mother's  cry  of  joy  stopped  him  short  as  she 
walked  into  the  door.  With  a  bound  she  reached 
Ned's  side,  clasped  him  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him 
again  and  again  with  the  low  caressing  words  that 
only  a  mother's  lips  can  breathe.  He  loosened  her 
hands  tenderly: 

"I'm  glad  you  came,  dear.  It's  all  right.  You 
mustn't  worry.  This  is  war,  you  know." 

"But  we're  going  to  save  you,  my  darling.  The 
President's  going  to  pardon  you.  I  feel  it — I  know 
it.  That's  why  he  sent  for  you.  God  has  heard  my 
prayer." 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  understand  these  things, 
dear,"  Ned  replied  tenderly.  "The  President  can't 
pardon  me — no  one  understands  that  better  than  I 
do " 

"But  he  will,  darling!     He  will " 

Ned  soothed  her  and  turned  to  Betty. 
312 


THE   REBEL 


"Just  a  moment,  Mother,  I  wish  to  speak  to  Miss 
Betty." 

He  took  her  hand  and  looked  into  her  face  with 
wistful  intensity. 

"One  long  look  at  the  girl  of  my  dreams  and  I'll 
wait  for  you  on  the  other  side!  This  is  not  the  way 
I  told  you  I  would  return,  is  it?  But  it's  war.  We 
must  take  it  as  it  comes — good-bye — dearest " 

"O  Ned,  Boy,  the  President  will  pardon  you  if  you'll 
be  reasonable.  You  must,  for  her  sake,  if  not  be 
cause  I  ask  it." 

"It's  sweet  of  you  to  try  this,  dearest,  but  of  course, 
it's  useless.  The  President  must  be  just." 

The  tall  figure  rose  and  Ned  turned  to  face  his  desk. 

"Young  man,"  he  began  gently,  "you're  a  soldier  of 
exceptional  training  and  intelligence.     You  knew  the 
danger  and  the  importance  of  your  mission.     You  have 
failed  and  your  life  is  forfeited  to  the  Nation,  but  for  / 
your  mother's  sake,  because  of  her  love  and  her  anguish 
and  her  loyalty,  I  have  decided  to  trust  you  and  send 
you  home  on  parole  in  her  custody  if  you  take  the^ 
oath  of  allegiance " 

The  mother  gave  a  sob  of  j  oy. 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  President,"  was  the  firm  reply, 
"for  your  generous  offer  for  my  mother's  sake,  but  I 
cannot  take  your  oath.  I  have  sworn  allegiance  to 
another  Government  in  the  righteousness  and  justice 
of  whose  cause  I  live  and  am  ready  to  die " 

"Ned — Ned!"  the  mother  moaned. 

"I  must,  Mother,  dear,"  he  firmly  went  on.  "Life 
is  sweet  when  it's  worth  living.  But  man  can  not  live 
by  bread  alone.  They  have  only  the  power  to  kill  my 
body.  You  ask  me  to  murder  my  soul." 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


He  paused  and  turned  to  the  President,  whose  eyes 
were  shining  with  admiration. 

"I  believe,  sir,  that  I  am  right  and  you  are  wrong. 
This  is  war.  We  must  fight  it  out.  I'm  a  soldier 
and  a  soldier's  business  is  to  die." 

The  tall  figure  suddenly  crossed  the  space  that 
separated  them  and  grasped  his  hand: 

"You're  a  brave  man,  Ned  Vaughan,  the  kind  of 
man  that  saves  this  world  from  hell — the  kind  that 
makes  this  Nation  great  and  worth  saving  whole!  I 
wish  I  could  keep  you  here — but  I  can't.  You  know 
that — good-bye " 

"Good-bye,  sir,"  was  the  firm  answer. 

The  mother  began  to  sob  piteously  until  Betty  spoke 
something  softly  in  her  ear. 

Ned  turned,  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  held  her 
in  silence.  He  took  Betty's  hand  and  bent  to  kiss  it. 

"You  shall  not  die,"  she  whispered  tensely.  "I'm 
going  to  save  you." 

She  felt  the  answering  pressure  and  knew  that  he 
understood. 

Betty  held  the  mother  at  the  door  a  moment  and 
spoke  in  low  tones : 

"I  can  get  permission  from  the  President  to  delay 
the  execution  until  his  sister  may  arrive  and  say  good 
bye  to  him  in  prison  the  night  before  the  execution. 
Wait  and  I'll  get  it  now." 

The  mother  stood  and  gazed  in  a  stupor  of  dull 
despair  while  Betty  pressed  to  his  desk  and  begged  the 
last  favor.  It  was  granted  without  hesitation. 

The  President  wrote  the  order  delaying  the  death 
for  three  days  and  handed  her  his  card  on  which 
was  written: 

314 


'You're  a  brave  man,  Ned  Vaughan.'  " 


THE   REBEL 


"Admit  the  bearer,  the  sister  of  the  prisoner,  Ned 
Vaughan,  the  night  before  his  execution  to  see  him  for  five 
minutes. 

"A.  LINCOLN." 

"I'm  sorry,  little  girl,  I  couldn't  do  more  for  your 
sake — but  you  understand?" 

Betty  nodded,  returned  the  pressure  of  his  hand 
and  hurriedly  left  the  room. 

The  hanging  was  fixed  for  the  following  Friday  at 
noon.  The  pass  would  admit  his  sister  on  Thursday 
night.  Betty  had  three  days  in  which  to  work.  She 
drew  every  dollar  of  her  money  and  went  at  her  task 
swiftly,  silently,  surely,  until  she  reached  the  guard 
inside  the  grim  old  prison,  who  held  the  keys  to  the 
death  watch. 

She  couldn't  trust  the  sister  with  her  daring  plan. 
She  might  lose  her  nerve.  She  must  impersonate  her. 
It  was  a  dangerous  piece  of  work,  but  it  was  not  im 
possible.  She  had  only  to  pass  the  inspectors.  The 
guards  inside  were  her  friends. 

On  Thursday  night  at  eight  o'clock  a  carriage  drew 
up  at  the  little  red  brick  house,  on  whose  door  flashed 
the  brass  plate  sign: 

ELIZABETH  GARLAND,  MODISTE 

She  had  made  an  appointment  with  Mrs.  Lincoln's 
dressmaker  and  arranged  for  it  at  this  late  hour.  She 
must  not  be  seen  leaving  her  father's  house  to-night. 

She  drove  rapidly  to  the  Capitol,  stopped  her  car 
riage  at  the  north  end,  entered  the  building  through 

315 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


the  Senate  wing,  quickly  passed  out  again,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  had  presented  her  pass  to  the  command 
ant  of  the  Old  Capitol  Prison. 

The  woman  inspector  made  the  most  thorough  search 
and  finding  nothing  suspicious,  allowed  her  to  enter  the 
dimly  lighted  corridor  of  the  death  watch. 
The  turnkey  loudly  announced: 
"The  sister  of  the  prisoner,  Ned  Vaughan !" 
She  met  him  face  to  face  in  the  large  cell  in  which 
the  condemned  were  allowed  to  pass  their  last  night  on 

•  earth.     The  keen  eyes  of  a  guard  from  the  Inspector's 
office  watched  her  every  act  and  every  movement  of 
her  body. 

Ned  stared  at  her.  His  heart  beat  with  mad  joy. 
She  was  going  to  play  his  sister's  part !  He  would 
*take  her  in  his  arms  for  the  first  time  and  feel  the  beat 
of  her  heart  against  his  and  their  lips  would  meet.  He 
laughed  at  death  as  he  looked  into  her  eyes  with  the 
hunger  of  eternity  gleaming  in  his  own. 

There  could  be  no  hesitation  on  her  part. 

She  threw  both  arms  around  his  neck  crying: 

"Brave,  foolish  boy!" 

He  held  her  close,  crushed  her  with  one  mad  impulse, 
and  slowly  relaxed  his  arms.  She  would  forgive  him 
for  this  moment  of  delirium  on  the  brink  of  the  grave, 
but  he  must  be  reasonable. 

"I  am  ready  to  die,  now,  dearest,"  he  murmured. 

She  slowly  lifted  her  lips  to  his  in  a  long  kiss — 
a  kiss  that  thrilled  body  and  soul — and  pressed  into 

-  his  mouth  a  tiny  piece  of  tissue  paper. 

She  stood  holding  both  his  hands  for  a  moment  and 
hesitated,  glancing  at  the  guard  from  the  corner  of 
her  eye.  He  was  watching  with  steady  stolid  busi- 

316 


THE   REBEL 


ness-like  stare.  She  must  play  her  part  to  the  end 
carefully  and  boldly. 

"I've  only  this  moment  just  to  say  good-bye,  Boy," 
she  faltered.  "I  promised  not  to  stay  long."  Slowly 
her  arms  stole  round  his  neck,  and  the  blood  rushed 
to  his  face  in  scarlet  waves. 

"Love  has  made  death  glorious,  dearest,"  he  breathed 
tenderly.  "God  bless  you  for  coming,  for  all  you  have 
done  for  me,  and  for  all  this  holy  hour  means  to  my 
soul — you  understand." 

The  tears  were  streaming  down  her  cheeks  now. 
The  plan  might  fail  after  all — the  gallows  was  there 
in  the  jail  yard  lifting  its  stark  arms  in  the  lowering 
sky.  She  pressed  his  hands  hysterically: 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand." 

She  turned  and  hurried  to  the  guard: 

"Take  me  out  quickly.  I'm  going  to  faint.  I  can't 
endure  it." 

The  guard  caught  her  arm,  supporting  her  as  she 
made  her  way  to  the  street. 

In  fifteen  minutes  she  had  returned  to  the  dress 
maker's  and  from  there  called  another  carriage  and 
went  home. 

The  guard  had  no  sooner  turned  his  back  than  Ned 
Vaughan  quickly  opened  and  read  the  precious  mes 
sage  which  gave  the  plan  of  escape. 

When  the  sentinel  on  his  corridor  was  changed  at 
midnight  the  blond,  blue-eyed  boy  would  be  his  friend 
and  explain. 

When  he  found  the  rope  ladder  concealed  on  the 
roof  it  was  raining.  He  fastened  it  carefully  in  the 
shadow  of  an  offset  in  the  outer  wall  and  waited  for 
the  appearance  of  the  guard.  As  he  passed  the  gas 

317 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


lamp  post  and  the  flickering  light  fell  on  his  face  he 
studied  it  with  care.  He  was  stupid  and  allowed  the 
rain  to  dash  straight  into  his  fat  face.  It  should  be 
easy  to  reach  the  shadows  by  a  quick  leap  when  he 
turned  against  the  rain  and  reached  the  length  of  his 
beat. 

He  calculated  to  a  second  the  time  required  to 
make  the  descent,  threw  himself  swiftly  to  the  end  of 
his  rope  and  dropped  to  the  pavement. 

In  his-  eagerness  to  strike  the  ground  on  the  run, 
his  foot  slipped  and  he  fell.  The  guard  heard  and 
ran  back,  blinking  his  stupid  eyes  through  the  rain. 
He  found  a  young  sport  who  had  lost  his  way  in  the 
storm. 

"I  shay,  partner,"  the  fallen  drunk  blubbered. 
"What'ell's  the  matter  here?  Ain't  this  Joe  Hall's 
place?" 

"Not  by  a  dam  sight." 

"Ah,  g'long  with  yer,  f-foolishness — man — and  open 
the  door — I'm  an  old  customer — I  ain't  no  secret  serv 
ice  man — I'm  all  right — open  her  up " 

"Here,  here,  get  up  an'  move  on  now,  I  can't  fool 
with  you,"  the  guard  growled  good-naturedly.  He 
lifted  Ned  to  his  feet  and  helped  him  to  the  end  of 
his  beat,  waved  him  a  jolly  good-night,  and  turned  to 
his  steady  tramp.  The  rope  was  still  dangling  next 
morning  ten  feet  above  his  head. 

The  sensation  that  thrilled  the  War  Department 
was  one  that  made  history  for  the  Nation,  as  well  as 
the  individuals  concerned,  and  for  some  unfortunately 
who  were  not  concerned. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    INSULT 

The  day  General  Lee's  army  turned  toward  the 
north  for  the  Maryland  shore,  the  President,^ivith  the 
eagerness  of  a  boy,  hurried  to  McClellan's  house  to 
shake  his  hand,  bid  him  God's  speed  and  assure  him  of 
his  earnest  support  and  good  wishes. 

The  absurdity  of  the  ruler  of  a  mighty  Nation 
hurrying  on  foot  to  the  house  of  one  of  his  generals 
never  occurred  to  his  mind. 

The  autocratic  power  over  the  lives  and  future  of 
millions  to  which  he  had  been  called  had  thrown  no 
shadow  of  vanity  or  self  pride  over  his  simple  life. 
Responsibility  had  only  made  clearer  his  judgment, 
strengthened  his  courage,  broadened  and  deepened  his 
love  for  his  fellow  man. 

He  wished  to  see  his  Commanding  General  and  bid 
him  God's  speed.  The  General  was  busy  and  he  wished 
to  take  up  but  a  few  minutes  of  his  time.  And  so 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  walked  to  his  house 
accompanied  only  by  Hay,  his  Assistant  Secretary. 

On  the  way  he  was  jubilant  with  hope: 

66 We've  got  them  now,  Boy — we've  got  them,  and 
this  war  must  speedily  end!  Lee  will  never  get  into 
Maryland  with  fifty  thousand  effective  men.  With  the 
river  hemming  him  in  on  the  rear  I'll  have  McClellan 
on  him  with  a  hundred  thousand  well  shod,  well  fed, 

319 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


well  armed  and  with  the  finest  artillery  that  ever  thun 
dered  into  battle.  We're  bound  to  win." 

"If  McClellan  can  whip  him,   sir?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  he's  got  to  do  that,"  was  the 
thoughtful  answer.  "And  you  know  I  believe  he'll  do 
it.  McClellan's  on  his  mettle  now.  His  army  will 
fight  like  tigers  to  show  their  faith  in  him.  He's  vain 
and  ambitious,  yes — many  great  men  are.  Ambition's 
a  mighty  human  motive." 

"I'm  afraid  it's  bad  diplomacy,  sir,  to  go  to  his 
house  like  this — he  is  vain,  you  know,"  the  younger 
man  observed  with  a  frown. 

"Tut,  tut,  Boy,  it's  no  time  for  ceremony.  Who 
cares  a  copper!" 

The  clock  in  the  church  tower  struck  ten  as  Hay 
sprang  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell. 

"I  hope  he  hasn't  gone  to  bed,"  the  Secretary  said. 

"At  ten  o'clock?"  the  President  laughed,  "a  great 
general  about  to  march  on  the  most  important  cam 
paign  of  his  life — hardly." 

The  straight  orderly  saluted  and  ushered  them  into 
the  elegant  reception  room — the  room  so  often  graced 
by  the  Prince  de  Joinville  and  the  Comte  de  Paris, 
of  the  General's  staff. 

The  orderly  sniffed  the  air  in  a  superior  butler 
style : 

"The  General  has  not  come  in  yet,  gentlemen." 

"We'll  wait,"  was  the  President's  quick  response. 

They  sat  in  silence  and  the  minutes  dragged. 

The  young  Secretary,  in  rising  wrath,  looked  again 
and  again  at  the  clock. 

"Don't  be  so  impatient,  John,"  the  quiet,  even  voice 
said.  "Great  bodies  move  slowly,  they  say — come 

320 


THE   INSULT 


here  and  sit  down — I'll  tell  you  a  secret.  The  Cabinet 
knows  it — and  you  can,  too." 

He  leaned  his  giant  figure  forward  in  his  chair  and 
touched  an  official  document  which  he  had  drawn  from 
his  pocket. 

"Great  events  hang  on  this  battle.  I've  written  out 
here  a  challenge  to  mortal  combat  for  all  our  foes, 
North,  South,  East  and  West.  I'm  going  to  free  the 
slaves  if  we  win  this  battle  and  we're  sure  to  win 
it " 

Hay  glanced  at  the  door  with  a  startled  look. 

"McClellan  and  I  don't  agree  on  this  subject  and 
he  mightn't  fight  as  well  if  he  knew  it.  It's  a  thing 
of  doubtful  wisdom  at  its  best  to  hurl  this  challenge 
into  the  face  of  my  foe.  But  the  time  has  come  and 
it  must  be  done.  We  have  made  no  headway  in  this 
war,  and  we  must  crush  the  South  to  end  it.  If  the 
Copperhead  leaders  should  get  control  of  the  Demo 
cratic  party  because  of  it — well,  it  means  trouble  at 
home.  Douglas  is  dead  and  the  jackal  is  trying  to 
wear  the  lion's  skin.  He  may  succeed,  but  then  I  must 
risk  it.  I'll  lose  some  good  soldiers  from  the  army  but 
I've  got  to  do  it.  All  I'm  waiting  for  now  is  a  victory 
on  which  to  launch  my  thunderbolt " 

A  key  clicked  in  the  front  door  and  the  quick,  firm 
step  of  McClellan  echoed  through  the  hall. 

The  orderly  was  reporting  his  distinguished  visitor. 
They  could  hear  his  low  words,  and  the  sharp  answer. 

The  General  mounted  the  stairs  and  entered  the 
front  room  overhead.  He  was  there,  of  course,  to 
arrange  his  toilet.  He  was  a  stickler  for  handsome 
clothes,  spotless  linen  and  the  last  detail  of  ceremony. 

Again  the  minutes  dragged.  The  tick  of  the  clock 
321 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


on  the  mantel  rang  through  the  silent  room  and  the 
face  of  the  younger  man  grew  red  with  rage. 

Unable  to  endure  the  insolence  of  a  subordinate 
toward  the  great  Chieftain,  whom  he  loved  with  a  boy's 
blind  devotion,  Hay  sprang  to  his  feet: 

"Let's  go,  sir!" 

The  big  hand  was  quietly  raised  in  a  gesture  of 
command  and  he  sank  into  his  seat. 

Five  minutes  more  passed  and  the  sound  of  ap 
proaching  footsteps  were  heard  quickly,  firmly  pressed 
with  military  precision. 

The  President  nodded: 

"You  see,  my  son !" 

But  instead  of  the  General  the  handsome  figure  of 
his  aide,  John  Vaughan,  appeared  in  the  doorway: 

"The  General  begs  me  to  say,  Mr.  President,  that 
he  is  too  much  fatigued  to  see  any  one  this  evening 
and  has  retired  for  the  night." 

The  orderly  stepped  pompously  to  the  door  to  usher 
them  out  and  John  Vaughan  bowed  and  returned  to 
his  commander. 

Hay  sprang  to  his  feet  livid  with  rage  and  spoke  to 
his  Chief  with  boyish  indignation. 

"You  are  not  going  to  take  this  insult  from  him?" 

The  tall  figure  slowly  rose  and  stood  in  silence. 

"Remove  him  from  his  command,"  the  younger  man 
pleaded.  "For  God's  sake  do  it  now.  Write  the  order 
for  his  removal  this  minute — give  it  to  me!  I'll  kick 
his  door  open  and  hand  it  to  him." 

The  deep  set  dreamy  eyes  were  turned  within  as  he 
said  in  slow  intense  tones: 

"No — I'll  hold  McClellan's  horse  for  him  if  he'll 
give  us  one  victory!" 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE     BLOODIEST     DAY 

The  struggle  opened  with  disaster  for  the  Union 
army.  Though  Lee's  plan  of  campaign  fell  by  accident 
into  McClellan's  hands,  it  was  too  late  to  frustrate 
the  first  master  stroke.  Relying  on  Jackson's  swift, 
bewildering  marches,  Lee,  in  hostile  territory  and  con 
fronted  by  twice  his  numbers,  suddenly  divided  his  army 
and  hurled  Jackson's  corps  against  Harper's  Ferry. 
The  garrison,  after  a  futile  struggle  of  two  days,  sur 
rendered  twelve  thousand  five  hundred  and  twenty  men 
and  their  vast  stores  of  war  material. 

The  contrast  between  General  White,  the  Federal 
officer  in  command  who  surrendered,  and  Jackson,  his 
conquerer,  was  strikingly  dramatic.  The  Union  Gen 
eral  rode  a  magnificent  black  horse,  was  carefully 
dressed  in  shining  immaculate  uniform — gloves,  boots 
and  sword  spotless.  The  Confederate  General  sat 
carelessly  on  his  little  shaggy  sorrel,  dusty,  travel- 
stained  and  carelessly  dressed. 

The  curiosity  of  the  Union  army  which  had  sur 
rendered  was  keen  to  see  the  famous  fighter.  The 
entire  twelve  thousand  prisoners  of  war  lined  the  road 
as  Jackson  silently  rode  by. 

A  voice  from  the  crowd  expressed  the  universal  feel 
ing  as  they  gazed: 

"Boys,  he  ain't  much  for  looks,  but,  by  God,  if 
323 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


we'd  had  him  we  wouldn't  have  been  caught  in  this 
trap !" 

The  first  shock  of  Lee's  and  McClellan's  armies  was 
at  South  Mountain,  where  the  desperate  effort  was 
made  to  break  through  and  save  Harper's  Ferry.  The 
attempt  failed,  though  the  Union  forces  won  the  fight. 
Lee  lost  twenty-seven  hundred  men,  killed  and  wounded 
and  prisoners,  and  the  Federal  general,  twenty-one 
hundred. 

Lee  withdrew  to  Sharpsburg  on  the  banks  of  the 
Antietam  to  meet  Jackson's  victorious  division  sweep 
ing  toward  him  from  Harper's  Ferry. 

On  the  first  day  the  Confederate  commander  made 
a  display  of  force  only,  awaiting  the  alignment  of 
Jackson's  troops.  His  men  were  so  poorly  shod  and 
clothed  they  could  not  be  brought  into  line  of  battle. 
When  the  fateful  day  of  September  17th,  1862, 
dawned,  still  and  clear  and  beautiful  over  the  hills  of 
Maryland,  more  than  twenty  thousand  of  Lee's  men 
had  fallen  by  the  roadside  barefooted  and  exhausted. 
When  the  first  roar  of  McClellan's  artillery  opened 
fire  in  the  grey  dawn,  they  hurled  their  shells  against 
less  than  thirty-seven  thousand  men  in  the  Confederate 
lines.  The  Union  commander  had  massed  eighty-seven 
thousand  tried  veterans  behind  his  guns. 

The  President  received  the  first  news  of  the  battle 
with  a  thrill  of  exultation.  That  Lee's  ragged,  foot 
sore  army  hemmed  in  thus  with  Antietam  Creek  on 
one  side  and  the  broad,  sweeping  Potomac  on  the  other 
would  be  crushed  and  destroyed  he  could  not  doubt 
for  a  moment. 

As  the  sun  rose  above  the  eastern  hills  a  gleaming 
dull-red  ball  of  blood,  the  Federal  infantry  under 

324 


THE   BLOODIEST   DAY 


Hooker  swept  into  action  and  drove  the  Confederates 
from  the  open  field  into  a  dense  woods,  where  they 
rallied,  stood  and  mowed  his  men  down  with  deadly  aim. 
Hooker  called  for  aid  and  General  Mansfield  rushed 
his  corps  into  action,  falling  dead  at  the  head  of  his 
men  as  they  deployed  in  line  of  battle. 

For  two  hours  the  sullen  conflict  raged,  blue  and 
grey  lines  surging  in  death-locked  embrace  until  the 
field  was  strewn  with  the  dead,  the  dying  and  the 
wounded. 

Hooker  was  wounded.  Sedgwick's  corps  swept  into 
the  field  under  a  sharp  artillery  fire  and  reached  the 
shelter  of  the  woods  only  to  find  themselves  caught  in 
a  trap  between  two  Confederate  brigades  massed  at 
this  point.  In  the  slaughter  which  followed  Sedgwick 
was  wounded  and  his  command  was  saved  from  an 
nihilation  with  the  loss  of  two  thousand  men. 

While  this  desperate  struggle  raged  in  the  Union 
right,  the  centre  was  the  scene  of  a  still  bloodier  one. 
French  and  Richardson  charged  the  Confederate  po 
sition  with  reckless  valor.  A  sunken  road  lay  across 
the  field  over  which  they  rushed.  For  four  terrible 
hours  the  men  in  grey  held  this  sunken  road  until  it 
was  piled  with  their  bodies,  and  when  the  last  charge 
of  the  resistless  blue  lines  took  it,  they  found  but  three 
hundred  living  men  who  had  been  holding  it  against 
the  assaults  of  five  thousand — and  "Bloody  Lane"  be 
came  immortal  in  American  history. 

It  was  now  one  o'clock  and  the  men  had  fought 
almost  continuously  since  the  sun  rose.  The  infantry 
fire  slowly  slackened  and  ceased  in  the  Union  right 
and  centre. 

Burnside,  who  held  the  Union  left,  was  ordered  to 
325 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


advance  by  the  capture  of  the  stone  bridge  over  the 
Antietam.  But  a  single  brigade  under  General 
Toombs  guarding  this  bridge  held  an  army  at  bay 
and  it  was  one  o'clock  before  the  bridge  was  captured. 

Burnside  now  pushed  his  division  up  the  heights 
against  Sharpsburg  to  cut  Lee's  line  of  retreat.  The 
Confederates  held  their  ground  with  desperate  courage, 
though  outnumbered  here  three  to  one.  At  last  the 
grey  lines  melted  and  the  men  in  blue  swept 
triumphantly  through  the  village  and  on  its  edge  sud 
denly  ran  into  a  line  of  men  clad  in  their  own  blue 
uniform. 

They  paused  in  wonder.  How  had  their  own  men 
gotten  in  such  a  position?  They  were  not  left  long 
in  doubt.  The  blue  line  suddenly  blazed  with  long  red 
waves  of  flame  squarely  in  their  faces.  It  was  Hill's 
division  of  Jackson's  corps  from  Harper's  Ferry. 
The  ragged  men  had  dressed  themselves  in  good  blue 
suits  from  the  captured  Federal  storehouse.  The 
shock  threw  the  Union  men  into  confusion  and  a  des 
perate  charge  of  the  strange  blue  Confederates  drove 
them  back  through  the  village,  and  night  fell  with  its 
streets  still  held  by  Lee's  army. 

For  fourteen  hours  five  hundred  pieces  of  artillery 
and  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  muskets  had 
thundered  and  hissed  their  cries  of  death.  On  the 
hills  and  valleys  lay  more  than  twenty  thousand  men 
killed  and  wounded. 

Lee's  little  army  of  thirty-seven  thousand  had  been 
cut  to  pieces,  having  lost  fourteen  thousand.  He  had 
but  twenty-three  thousand  left.  McClellan  had  lost 
twelve  thousand,  but  had  seventy-five  thousand  left. 
And  yet  so  desperate  had  been  the  deadly  courage  with 

326 


THE   BLOODIEST   DAY 


which  the  grey  tattered  army  had  fought  that  Mc- 
Clellan  lay  on  his  arms  for  three  days. 

The  day's  work  had  been  a  drawn  battle,  but  the 
President's  heart  was  broken  as  he  watched  in  anguish 
the  withdrawal  of  Lee's  army  in  safety  across  the 
river.  It  was  the  last  straw.  McClellan  had  been^ 
weighed  and  found  wanting.  He  registered  a  solemn 
promise  with  God  that  if  the  great  Confederate  Com 
manders  succeeded  in  making  good  their  retreat  from 
this  desperate  situation  he  would  remove  McClellan. 

The  Confederates  withdrew,  rallied  their  shattered 
forces  safely  in  Virginia,  and  Jeb  Stuart  once  more 
rode  around  the  Northern  army! 

The  President  issued  his   Emancipation  Proclama-^ 
tion,  challenging  the  South  to  war  to  the  death,  and 
flung  down  the  gauntlet  to  his  rival,  the  coming  leader 
of   Northern  Democracy,  George  Brinton  McClellan, 
by  removing  him  from  command. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

BENEATH     THE     SKIN 

John  Vaughan  saw  the  blow  fall  on  McClellan's  mag 
nificent  headquarters  in  deep  amazement.  The  idol 
of  the  army  was  ordered  to  turn  over  his  command 
to  General  Burnside  and  the  impossible  had  happened. 

Instead  of  the  brilliant  coup  d'etat  which  he  and 
the  entire  staff  had  predicted,  the  fallen  leader  obeyed 
and  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  his  men. 

McClellan  knew,  what  his  staff  could  not  understand, 
that  for  the  moment  the  President  was  master  of  the 
situation.  He  still  held  the  unbounded  confidence  of 
his  officers,  but  the  rank  and  file  of  his  soldiers  had 
become  his  wondering  critics.  They  believed  they  had 
crushed  Lee's  army  at  Antietam  and  yet  they  lay  idle 
until  the  skillful  Southern  Commander  had  crossed  the 
Potomac,  made  good  his  retreat,  and  once  more  in 
sulted  them  by  riding  around  their  entire  lines.  The 
volunteer  American  soldier  was  a  good  fighter  and  a 
good  critic  of  the  men  who  led  him.  He  had  his  own 
ideas  about  how  an  army  should  be  fought  and 
maneuvered.  As  the  idol  of  fighting  men,  McClellan 
had  ceased  to  threaten  the  supremacy  of  the  civil  law. 
There  was  no  attempt  at  the  long  looked  for  coup 
d'etate  It  was  too  late.  No  one  knew  this  more  clearly 
than  McClellun  himself. 

328 


BENEATH   THE   SKIN 


But  his  fall  was  the  bitterness  of  death  to  the  staff 
who  adored  him  and  the  generals  who  believed  in  him. 
Burnside,  knowing  the  condition  of  practical  anarchy 
he  must  face,  declined  the  command.  The  President 
forced  him  to  accept.  He  took  it  reluctantly  with 
grim  forebodings  of  failure. 

John   received   his  long  leave   of   absence   from  his 
Chief  and  left  for  Washington  the  night  before  the 
formal  farewell.      His   rage   against   the  bungler  who7 
ruled  the  Nation  with  autocratic  power  was  fierce  and 
implacable. 

His    resentment   against   the   woman   he   loved   was  > 
scarcely  less  bitter.     It  was  her  triumph,  too.      She 
believed  in  the  divine  inspiration  of  the  man  who  sat 
in  the  chair  of  Washington  and  Jefferson.     Great  God, 
could  madness  reach  sublimer  folly!     She  had  written 
him  a  letter  of  good  wishes  and  all  but  asked  for  a 
reconciliation  before  the  battle.    Love  had  fought  with  > 
pride  through  a  night  and  pride  had  won.     He  hadn't 
answered  the  letter. 

He  avoided  his  newspaper  friends  and  plunged  into  a 
round  of  dissipation.  Beneath  the  grim  tragedy  of 
blood  in  Washington  flowed  the  ever  widening  and 
deepening  torrent  of  sensual  revelry — of  wine  and 
women,  song  and  dance,  gambling  and  intrigue. 

The  flash  of  something  cruel  in  his  eye  which  Betty 
Winter  had  seen  and  feared  from  the  first  burned 
now  with  a  steady  blaze.  FOE  six  days  and  nights  he 
played  in  Joe  Hall's  place  a  desperate  game,  drinking, 
drinking  always,  and  winning.  Hour  after  hour  he 
sat  at  the  roulette  table,  his  chin  sunk  on  his  breast, 
his  reddened  eyes  gleaming  beneath  his  heavy  black 
brows,  silent,  surly,  unapproachable. 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


A  reporter  from  the  Republican  recognized  him  and 
extended  his  hand: 

"Hello,    Vaughan!" 

John  stared  at  him  coldly  and  resumed  his  play 
without  a  word.  At  the  end  of  six  days  he  had  won 
more  than  two  thousand  dollars  from  the  house,  put 
it  in  his  pocket,  and,  deaf  to  the  blandishments  of 
smooth,  gentlemanly  proprietor,  pushed  his  way  out 
into  the  Avenue. 

It  was  but  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and  he 
was  only  half  drunk.  He  wandered  aimlessly  down 
the  street  and  crossed  in  the  direction  of  hell's  half- 
acre  below  the  Baltimore  depot.  His  uniform  was 
wrinkled,  his  boots  had  not  been  blacked  for  a  week, 
his  linen  was  dirty,  his  hair  rumpled,  his  handsome 
black  moustache  stained  with  drink,  but  he  was  hilar 
iously  conscious  that  he  had  two  thousand  dollars 
of  Joe  Hall's  ill-gotten  money  in  his  pocket.  There 
was  a  devil-may-care  swing  to  his  walk  and  a  look 
in  his  eye  that  no  decent  woman  would  care  to  see 
twice. 

He  ran  squarely  into  Betty  Winter  in  the  crowd 
emerging  from  the  depot.  The  little  bag  she  was 
carrying  fell  from  her  hands,  with  a  cry  of  startled 
anguish : 

"John— my  God!" 

He  made  no  effort  to  pick  up  the  fallen  bag  or  in 
any  way  return  the  greeting.  He  merely  paused  and 
stared — deliberately  stood  and  stared  as  if  stupefied 
by  the  apparition.  In  fact,  he  was  so  startled  by  her 
sudden  appearance  that  for  a  moment  he  felt  the  terror 
of  a  drunkard's  first  hallucination.  The  thought  was 
momentary.  He  knew  better.  He  was  not  drunk. 

330 


BENEATH   THE   SKIN 


The  girl  was  there  all  right — the  real  thing — living, 
beautiful  flesh  and  blood.  For  one  second's  anguish 
the  love  of  her  strangled  him.  The  desire  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  was  all  but  resistless  in  its  fierce  mad 
ness.  He  bit  his  lips  and  scowled  in  her  face. 

"John — John — dearest,"  she  gasped. 

The  scowl  darkened  and  he  spoke  with  insulting 
deliberation:  "You  have  made  a  mistake.  I  haven't 
the  honor  of  your  acquaintance." 

Before  Betty  could  recover  from  the  horror  of  his 
answer  he  had  brushed  rudely  past  her  and  disap 
peared  in  the  crowd.  She  picked  up  her  bag  in  a 
stupor  of  dumb  rage  and  started  home.  She  was  to» 
weak  for  the  walk  she  had  hoped  to  take.  She  called 
a  hack  and  scarcely  had  the  strength  to  climb  into- 
the  high,  old-fashioned  seat. 

Never  in  all  her  life  had  blind  anger  so  possessed 
her  soul  and  body.  In  a  moment  of  tenderness  she 
had  offered  to  forgive  and  forget.  It  was  all  over 
now.  The  brute  was  not  worth  a  tear  of  regret.  She- 
would  show  him! 

Two  weeks  later  John  Vaughan  stared  into  the 
ebony  face  of  a  negro  who  had  attached  himself  to  his 
fortune  somewhere  in  the  revelry  of  the  night  before. 
Washington  was  swarming  with  these  foolish  black  • 
children  who  had  come  in  thousands.  They  had  no 
money  and  it  had  not  occurred  to  them  that  they 
would  need  any.  Their  food  and  clothes  had  always 
been  provided  and  they  took  no  thought  for  the  mor 
row. 

John  had  forgotten  the  fact  that  he  had  taken  the 
negro  in  his  hack  for  two  hours  and  finally  adopted  him 
as  his  own. 

331 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


He  sat  up,  pressed  his  hand  over  his  aching  head 
and  stared  into  the  grinning  face: 

"And  what  are  you  doing  here,  you  imp  of  the 
devil?" 

Julius  laughed  and  rolled  his  eyes: 

"I'se  yo'  man.  Don't  you  min'  takin'  me  up  in  de 
hack  wid  you  las'  night?" 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Julius  Caesar,  sah." 

"Then  it's  all  right!  You're  the  man  I'm  looking 
for.  You're  the  man  this  country's  looking  for. 
You're  a  born  fighter " 

"Na,  sah,  I'se  er  cook!" 

"Sh!     Say  not  so — we're  going  back  to  war!" 

"All  right,  sah,  I'se  gwine  wid  you." 

"I  warn  you,  Julius  Caesar,  don't  do  it  unless  you're 
in  for  a  fight!  I'm  going  back  to  fight — to  fight  to 
kill.  No  more  red  tape  and  gold  braid  for  me.  I'm 
going  now  into  the  jaws  of  hell.  I'm  going  into  the 
ranks  as  a  private." 

"Don't  make  no  difference  ter  me,  sah,  whar  yer 
go.  I'se  gwine  wid  yer.  I  kin  look  atter  yer  shoes 
an'  cook  yer  sumfin'  good  ter  eat." 

"I  warn  you,  Julius !  When  they  find  your  torn 
and  mangled  body  on  the  field  of  Death,  don't  you 
sit  up  and  blame  me!" 

"Don't  yer  worry,  sah.  Dey  ain't  gwine  fin'  me  dar, 
an'  ef  dey  do,  dey  ain't  gwine  ter  be  nuttin'  tore  er 
mangled  'bout  me,  I  see  ter  dat,  sah!" 

Three  weeks  later  Burnside's  army  received  a  stal 
wart  recruit.  Few  questions  were  asked.  The  ranks 
were  melting. 

332 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE  USURPER 

The  answer  which  the  country  gave  the  President's 
Proclamation  of  Emancipation  was  a  startling  one, 
even  to  the  patient,  careful  far-seeing  man  of  the  people 
in  the  White  House.  For  months  he  had  carried  the 
immortal  document  in  his  pocket  without  even  allow 
ing  his  Cabinet  to  know  it  had  been  written.  He  had 
patiently  borne  the  abuse  of  his  party  leaders  and  the 
fierce  assaults  of  Horace  Greeley  until  he  believed  the 
time  had  come  that  he  must  strike  this  blow — a  blow 
which  would  rouse  the  South  to  desperation  and  unite 
his  enemies  in  the  North.  He  had  finally  issued  it 
with  grave  fears. 

The  results  were  graver  than  he  could  foresee.  More 
than  once  he  was  compelled  to  face  the  issue  of  its  re 
peal  as  the  only  way  to  forestall  a  counter  revolution 
in  the  North. 

Desertions  from  the  army  became  appalling — the 
number  reached  frequently  as  high  as  two  hundred  a 
day  and  the  aggregate  over  eight  thousand  a  month. 
His  Proclamation  had  provided  for  the  enlistment  of 
negroes  as  soldiers.  Not  only  did  thousands  of  men 
refuse  to  continue  to  fight  when  the  issue  of  Slavery 
was  injected,  but  other  thousands  felt  that  the  uni 
form  of  the  Republic  had  been  dishonored  by  placing 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


it  on  the  backs  of  slaves.  They  refused  to  wear  it 
longer,  and  deserted  at  the  risk  of  their  lives. 

The  Proclamation  had  united  the  South  and  hope 
lessly  divided  the  North.  How  serious  this  Northern 
division  was  destined  to  become  was  the  problem  now 
of  a  concern  as  deep  as  the  size  and  efficiency  of  Gen 
eral  Lee's  army. 

The  election  of  the  new  Congress  would  put  his 
administration  to  a  supreme  fight  for  existence.  If 
the  Democratic  Party  under  its  new  leader,  Clay  Van 
Alen  of  Ohio,  should  win  it  meant  a  hostile  majority 
in  power  whose  edict  could  end  the  war  and  divide 
the  Union.  They  had  already  selected  in  secret  George 
B.  McClellan  for  their  coming  standard  bearer. 

For  the  first  time  the  question  of  Union  or  Dis 
union  was  squarely  up  to  the  North  in  an  election. 
And  it  came  at  an  unlucky  moment  for  the  President. 
The  army  in  the  West  had  ceased  to  win  victories. 
The  Southern  army  under  Lee  was  still  defending 
Richmond  as  strongly  as  ever. 

There  was  no  evading  the  issue  at  the  polls.  The 
Proclamation  had  committed  the  President  to  the  bold, 
far-reaching  radical  and  aggressive  policy  of  the  utter 
destruction  of  Slavery.  The  people  were  asked  to 
choose  between  Slavery  on  the  one  hand  and  national- 
ity  on  the  other.  The  two  together  they  could  not 
again  have. 

The  President  had  staked  his  life  on  his  faith  that 
the  people  could  be  trusted  on  a  square  issue  of  right 
and  wrong. 

This  time  he  had  underestimated  the  force  of  blind 
passions  which  the  hell  of  war  had  raised. 

Maine  voted  first  and  cut  down  her  majority  for 


THE    USURPER 


the  administration  from  nineteen  thousand  to  a  bare 
four  thousand.     The  fact  was  ominous. 

Ohio  spoke  next  and  Van  Alen's  ticket  against  the 
administration  swept  the  State,  returning  fourteen 
Democrats  and  only  five  Republicans  to  Congress. 

Indiana,  the  State  in  which  the  President's  mother 
slept,  spoke  in  thunder  tones  against  him,  sending 
eight  Democrats  and  three  Republicans.  Even  the 
rockribbed  Republican  stronghold  of  Pennsylvania 
was  carried  by  the  opposition  by  a  majority  of  four 
thousand,  reversing  Lincoln's  former  majority  of  sixty 
thousand. 

In  New  York  the  brilliant  Democratic  leader,  Hora 
tio  Seymour,  was  elected  Governor  on  a  platform  hos 
tile  to  the  administration  by  more  than  ten  thousand 
majority.  New  Jersey  turned  against  him,  Michigan 
reduced  his  majority  from  twenty  to  six  thousand. 
Wisconsin  evenly  divided  its  delegates  to  Congress. 

Illinois,  the  President's  own  State,  gave  the  most 
crushing  blow  of  all.  His  big  majority  there  was 
completely  reversed  and  the  Democrats  carried  the 
State  by  over  seventeen  thousand  and  the  Congres 
sional  delegates  stood  eleven  to  three  against  him. 

And  then  his  Border  State  Policy,  against  which 
the  leaders  of  his  party  had  raged  in  vain  was  vin 
dicated  in  the  most  startling  way.  True  to  his  stead 
fast  purpose  to  hold  these  States  in  the  Union  at  all 
hazards,  he  had  not  included  them  in  his  Emancipa-/ 
tion  Proclamation. 

One  of  the  reasons  for  which  they  had  refused  his 
offer  of  United  States  bonds  in  payment  for  their 
slaves  was  they  did  not  believe  them  worth  the  paper 
they  were  written  on.  A  war  costing  two  million 

335 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


dollars  a  day  was  sure  to  bankrupt  the  Nation  before 
the  end  could  be  seen. 

And  yet  because  he  had  treated  them  with  patience 
and  fairness,  with  justice  and  with  generosity,  the 
Border  States  and  the  new  State  of  West  Virginia  born 
of  this  policy,  voted  to  sustain  the  President,  saved  his 
administration  from  ruin  and  gave  him  another  chance 
to  fight  for  the  life  of  the  Union. 

It  was  a  close  shave.  His  working  majority  in 
Congress  was  reduced  to  a  narrow  margin,  the  opposi 
tion  was  large,  united  and  fierce  in  its  aggression, 
but  he  had  been  saved  from  annihilation. 

The  temper  of  the  men  elected  to  the  Legislatures, 
both  State  and  National,  in  the  great  Northern  States 
was  astounding. 

So  serious  was  the  situation  in  Indiana  that  Gov 
ernor  Morton  hastened  to  Washington  to  lay  the  crisis 
before  the  President. 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you,"  the  Governor  began, 
"but  we  must  face  it.  The  Democratic  politicians  of 
Ohio,  Indiana,  and  Illinois  now  called  to  power  assume 
that  the  rebellion  will  not  be  crushed " 

"And  therefore?" 

"That  their  interests  are  antagonistic  to  New  Eng 
land  and  in  harmony  with  the  South.  Another  three 
months  like  the  last  six  and  we  are  lost,  sir — hope 
lessly  lost !" 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that  Governor?"  the  sad  even  voice 
asked. 

A  smile  flickered  across  the  stern,  fine  face  of  the 
war  Governor : 

"If  you  think  me  a  pessimist  remember  that  Van 
Alen  their  leader,  has  just  presided  over  a  Democratic 

336 


THE    USURPER 


jubilee  meeting  in  Ohio  which  was  swept  again  and 
again  by  cheers  for  Jefferson  Davis — curses  and  jeers 
for  the  Abolitionists.  His  speech  has  been  put  in 
the  form  of  a  leaflet  which  is  being  mailed  in  thousands 
to  our  soldiers  at  the  front " 

"You  know  that  to  be  a  fact?"  the  President  asked 
sharply. 

"The  fact  is  notorious,  sir.  It  will  be  disputed 
by  no  one.  The  outlook  is  black.  Meeting  after 
meeting  is  being  held  in  Indiana  demanding  peace  at 
any  price,  with  the  recognition  of  the  Southern  Con 
federacy — and,  mark  you,  what  is  still  more  signifi 
cant  the  formation  of  a  Northwestern  Confederacy 
with  its  possible  Capital  at  your  home  town  of  Spring 
field,  Illinois " 

"No,  no!"  the  President  groaned. 

"Your  last  call  for  three  hundred  thousand  volun 
teers,"  the  Governor  went  on,  "as  you  well  know  was 
an  utter  failure.  Only  eighty-six  thousand  men  have 
been  raised  under  it.  I  was  compelled  to  use  a  draft 
to  secure  the  number  I  did  in  Indiana.  It  is  useless 
to  call  for  more  volunteers  anywhere " 

"Then  we'll  have  to  use  the  draft,"  was  the  firm 
response. 

"If  we  can  enforce  it!"  the  Governor  warned.  "A 
meeting  has  just  been  held  in  my  State  in  which  reso 
lutions  were  unanimously  passed  demanding  that  the 
war  cease,  denouncing  the  attempt  to  use  the  power 
to  draft  men,  declaring  that  our  volunteers  had  been 
induced  to  enter  the  army  under  the  false  declaration 
that  war  was  waged  solely  to  maintain  the  Constitu 
tion  and  to  restore  the  Union " 

"And  so  it  is!"  the  President  interrupted. 
337 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Until  you  issued  your  Proclamation,  freeing  the 
slaves " 

"But  only  as  a  war  measure  to  weaken  the  South, 
give  us  the  victory  and  restore  the  Constitution!" 

"They  refuse  to  hear  your  interpretation;  they 
make  their  own.  Van  Alen  boldly  declares  that  ninety- 
nine  men  out  of  every  hundred  whom  he  represents  in 
Congress  breathe  no  other  prayer  than  to  have  an  end 
of  this  hellish  war.  When  news  of  victory  comes, 
there  is  no  rejoicing.  When  news  of  our  defeat  comes 
there  is  no  sorrow " 

"Is  that  statement  really  true?"  the  sorrowful  lips 
asked. 

"Of  the  majority  who  elected  him,  yes.  In  the 
Northwest,  distrust  and  despair  are  strangling  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  More  and  more  we  hear  the 
traitorous  talk  of  arraying  ourselves  against  New  Eng 
land  and  forming  a  Confederacy  of  our  own.  More 
than  two  thousand  six  hundred  deserters  have  been 
arrested  within  a  few  weeks  in  Indiana.  It  generally 
requires  an  armed  detail.  Most  of  the  deserters,  true 
to  the  oath  of  the  order  of  the  Knights  of  the  Golden 
Circle,  desert  with  their  arms " 

"Is  it  possible?" 

"And  in  one  case  seventeen  of  these  fortified  them 
selves  in  a  log  cabin  with  outside  paling  and  ditch  for 
protection,  and  were  maintained  by  their  neighbors. 
Two  hundred  armed  men  in  Rush  County  resisted  the 
arrest  of  deserters.  I  was  compelled  to  send  infantry 
by  special  train  to  take  their  ringleaders.  Southern 
Indiana  is  ripe  for  Revolution. 

"I  have  positive  information  that  the  incoming 
Democratic  Legislature  of  my  State  is  in  quick  touch 

888 


THE    USURPER 


with  the  ones  gathering  in  Illinois  and  Ohio.  In  Il 
linois,  your  own  State,  they  have  already  drafted  the 
resolutions  demanding  an  armistice  and  a  convention 
of  all  the  States  to  agree  to  an  adjustment  of  the 
war.  It  is  certain  to  pass  the  Illinois  House. 

"My  own  Legislature  has  put  this  resolution  into 
a  more  daring  and  dangerous  form.  They  propose 
boldly  and  at  once  to  acknowledge  the  Southern  Con 
federacy  and  demand  that  the  Northwest  dissolve  all 
further  relations  with  New  England.  When  they  have 
passed  this  measure  in  Indiana,  they  expect  Ohio  and 
Illinois  to  follow  suit. 

"Their  secret  order  which  covers  my  State  with  a  ?, 
network   of  lodges,   whose   purpose   is   the  withdrawal 
of  the  Northwestern  States  from  the  Union,  has  ob 
tained  a  foothold  in  the  army  camps  inside  the  city 
of  Washington  itself " 

The  President  rose  with  quick,  nervous  energy  and 
paced  the  floor.  He  stopped  suddenly  in  front  of 
Morton,  his  deep  set  eyes  burning  a  steady  flame: 

"And  what  do  you  propose?" 

"I  haven't  decided  yet.  I  have  the  best  of  reasons 
to  believe  that  the  first  thing  my  Legislature  will 
do  when  it  convenes  is  to  pass  a  resolution  refus 
ing  to  receive  any  message  from  me  as  Governor  of  the 
State!" 

"Will  they  dare?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  It  will  be  composed  of  men  sworn 
to  oppose  to  the  bitter  end  any  prosecution  of  this 
war.  They  intend  to  recognize  the  Southern  Con 
federacy,  and  dissolve  their  own  Federal  relation  with 

the  United  States.     It  may  be  necessary,  sir "  he 

paused  and  fixed  the  President  with  compelling  eyes 

339 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


" — it  may  be  necessary  to  suspend  the  civil  govern 
ment  in  the  North  in  order  to  save  the  Union!" 

The  President  lifted  his  big  hand  in  a  gesture  of 
despair  : 

"God  save  us  from  that!" 

"I  came  here  to  tell  you  just  this,"  the  Governor 
gravely  concluded.  "If  the  crisis  comes  and  I  must 
use  force  I  expect  you  to  back  me " 

Two  big  rugged  hands  grasped  the  one  outstretched : 

"God  bless  you,  Governor  Morton, — we've  got  to 
save  the  Union,  and  we're  going  to  do  it !  Since  the 
day  I  came  into  this  office  I  have  fought  to  uphold 
the  supremacy  of  the  civil  law.  My  enemies  may  force 
me  to  use  despotic  powers  to  crush  it  for  larger 

ends ! But  I  hope  not.  I  hope  not.  God  knows 

I  have  no  vain  ambitions.  I  have  no  desire  to  use 
such  power " 

The  Governor  left  him  gazing  dreamily  over  the 
river  toward  Virginia  a  great  new  sorrow  clouding 
his  soul. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

THE    CONSPIRACY 

Lord  Lyons,  the  British  Minister,  was  using  smooth 
words  to  the  Secretary  of  State.  Mr.  Seward,  our 
wily  snuff  dipper,  was  fully  his  equal  in  expressions 
of  polite  friendship.  What  he  meant  to  say,  of  course, 
was  that  he  could  plunge  a  poisoned  dagger  into  the 
British  Lion  with  the  utmost  pleasure.  What  he  said 
was: 

"I  am  pleased  to  hear  from  your  lordship  the  ex 
pressions  of  good  will  from  her  Gracious  Majesty's 
Government." 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,  however,"  the  Minister  hastened 
to  add,  "that  the  Proclamation  of  Emancipation  was 
not  received  by  the  best  people  of  England  as  favorably 
as  we  had  hoped." 

"And  why   not?"   Seward   politely   asked. 

"Seeing  that  it  could  have  no  effect  in  really  freeing 
the  slaves  until  the  South  is  conquered  it  appeared  to  be 
merely  an  attempt  to  excite  a  servile  insurrection." 

The  Secretary  lifted  his  eye-brows,  took  another  dip 
of  snuff,  and  softly  inquired: 

"And  may  I  ask  of  your  lordship  whether  this  would 
not  have  been  even  more  true  in  the  earlier  days  of  the 
war  than  now?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"And  yet  I  understand  that  her  Gracious  Majesty's 
341 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Government  was  cold  toward  us  because  we  had  failed 
to  take  such  high  moral  grounds  at  once  in  the  be 
ginning  of  the  war?" 

His  lordship  lifted  his  hands  in  polite  admission  of 
the  facts. 

"The  trouble  you  see  is,"  he  went  on  softly,  "Europe 
begins  to  feel  that  the  division  of  sentiment  in  the 
North  will  prove  a  fatal  weakness  to  the  administra 
tion  in  so  grave  a  crisis.  Unfortunately,  from  our 
point  of  view,  of  course,  your  Government  is  a  democ 
racy,  the  sport  of  every  whim  of  the  demagogue  of 
the  hour " 

Seward  lifted  his  eyes  with  a  quick  look  at  his  lord 
ship  and  smiled: 

"Allow  me  to  reassure  her  Gracious  Majesty's  Gov 
ernment  on  that  point  immediately.  The  administra 
tion  will  find  means  of  preserving  the  sovereign  power 
the  people  have  entrusted  to  it.  For  example,  my 
lord,  I  can  touch  the  little  bell  on  my  right  hand  and 
order  the  arrest  without  warrant  of  a  citizen  of  Ohio. 
I  can  touch  the  little  bell  on  my  left  hand  and  order 
the  imprisonment  of  a  citizen  of  New  York;  and  no 
power  on  earth  except  that  of  the  President,  can  re 
lease  them.  Can  the  Queen  of  Great  Britain  do  as 
much?" 

His  lordship  left  apparently  reassured. 

The  tinkle  of  the  little  bell  on  the  desk  of  the  Sec 
retary  of  State  which  had  begun  to  fill  the  jails  of  the 
North  with  her  leading  Democratic  citizens  did  not 
have  the  same  soothing  effect  on  American  lawmakers, 
however.  These  arrests  were  made  without  warrant  and 
the  victim  held  without  charges,  the  right  to  bail  or 
trial. 

342 


THE   CONSPIRACY 


The  President  had  dared  to  suspend  the  great  writ 
of  habeas  corpus  which  guaranteed  to  every  freeman 
the  right  to  meet  his  accuser  in  open  court  and  answer 
the  charge  against  him. 

The  attitude  of  the  bold  aggressive  opposition  was 
voiced  on  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Representatives  in 
Washington  in  no  uncertain  language  by  Daniel  Voor- 
hees  of  Indiana,  in  a  speech  whose  passionate  elo 
quence  was  only  equalled  by  its  reckless  daring. 

"The  present  Executive  of  the  Government,"  he 
declared,  "has  usurped  the  powers  of  Law  and  Justice 
to  an  extent  subversive  of  republican  institutions,  and 
not  to  be  borne  by  any  free  people.  He  has  given 
access  to  the  vaults  of  prisons  but  not  to  the  bar 
of  justice.  It  is  a  part  of  the  nature  of  frail  men 
to  sin  against  laws,  both  human  and  divine;  but  God 
Himself  guarantees  him  a  fair  trial  before  punishment. 
Tyrants  alone  repudiate  the  justice  of  the  Almighty. 
To  deny  an  accused  man  the  right  to  be  heard  in 
his  own  defense  is  an  echo  from  the  dark  ages  of  brutal 
despotism.  We  have  in  this  the  most  atrocious  tyranny 
that  ever  feasted  on  the  groans  of  a  captive  or  ban 
queted  on  the  tears  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan. 

"And  yet  on  this  spectacle  of  shame  and  horror 
American  citizens  now  gaze.  The  great  bulwark  of 
human  liberty  which  generations  in  bloody  toil  have 
built  against  the  wicked  exercise  of  unlawful  power  has 
been  torn  away  by  a  parricidal  hand.  Every  man  to 
day  from  the  proudest  in  his  mansion  to  the  humblest  in 
his  cabin — all  stand  at  the  mercy  of  one  man,  and  the 
fawning  minions  who  crouch  before  him  for  pay. 

"We  hear  on  every  side  the  old  cry  of  the  courtier 
and  the  parasite.  At  every  new  aggression,  at  every 

343 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


additional  outrage,  new  advocates  rise  to  defend  the 
source  of  patronage,  wealth  and  fame — the  department 
of  the  Executive!  Such  assistance  has  always  waited 
on  the  malignant  efforts  of  tyranny.  Nero  had  his 
poet  laureate,  and  Seneca  wrote  a  defense  even  for  the 
murder  of  his  mother.  And  this  dark  hour  affords  us 
ample  evidence  that  human  nature  is  the  same  to-day 
as  two  thousand  years  ago." 

Such  speeches  could  not  be  sent  broadcast  free  of 
charge  through  the  mails  without  its  effect  on  the 
minds  of  thousands.  The  great  political  party  in 
opposition  to  the  administration  was  now  arrayed  in 
solid  phalanx  against  the  war  itself  on  whose  prosecu 
tion  the  existence  of  the  Nation  depended. 

Again  the  Radical  wing  of  his  party  demanded  of 
the  President  the  impossible. 

The  Abolitionists  had  given  a  tardy  and  lukewarm 
support  in  return  for  the  issue  of  the  Proclamation 
of  Emancipation.  Their  support  lasted  but  a  few 
days.  Through  their  spokesman,  Senator  Winter, 
they  demanded  now  the  whole  loaf.  They  had  received 
but  half  of  their  real  program.  They  asked  for  a  pol- 
icy  of  reconstruction  in  the  parts  of  Louisiana  and 
Tennessee  held  by  the  Union  army  in  accordance  with 
their  ideas.  They  demanded  the  ballot  for  every 
slave,  the  confiscation  of  the  property  of  the  white 
people  of  the  South  and  its  bestowment  upon  negroes 
and  camp-followers  as  fast  as  the  Union  army  should 
penetrate  into  the  States  in  rebellion. 

Senator  Winter's  argument  was  based  on  sound 
reasoning  theoretically  whatever  might  be  said  of  its 
wisdom  as  a  National  policy. 

"Your  Emancipation  Proclamation,"  he  declared  to 
344 


THE   CONSPIRACY 


the  President,  "provides  for  the  arming  and  drilling 
of  negro  soldiers  to  fight  for  the  Republic.     If  they 
are  good  enough  to  fight  they   are   good  enough   to  > 
vote.     The  ballot  is  only  another  form  of  the  bayonet 
which  we  use  in  time  of  peace " 

"Correct,  Senator,"  was  the  calm  reply,  "if  we  are 
to  allow  the  negro  race  to  remain  in  America  in  phy-^ 
sical  contact  with  ours.  But  we  are  not  going  to  do 
this.  No  greater  calamity  could  befall  our  people. 
Colonization  and  separation  must  go  hand  in  hand 
with  the  emancipation  of  these  children  of  Africa. 
I  incorporated  this  principle  in  my  act  of  emancipa 
tion.  I  have  set  my  life  on  the  issue  of  its  success. 
As  a  matter  of  theory  and  abstract  right  we  may 
grant  the  suffrage  to  a  few  of  the  more  intelligent 
negroes  and  the  black  soldiers  we  may  enroll  until  they 
can  be  removed " 

"Again  we  deal  with  a  Southerner,  Mr.  President!" 
the  Senator  sneered. 

"So  be  it,"   was  the  quiet  answer.      "I  have  never 
held  any  other  views.     They  were  well  known  before 
the  war.     But  two  years  before  my  election  I  said  in  f 
my  debate  with  Douglas: 

"  'I  am  not,  nor  ever  have  been,  in  favor  of  bringing 
about  in  any  way,  the  social  and  political  equality  of  ' 
the  white  and  black  races.     I  am  not,  nor  ever  have 
been,  in  favor  of  making  voters  or  jurors  of  negroes, 
nor  of  qualifying  them  to  hold   office,   nor   to   inter 
marry  with  white  people.      I  will  say  in  addition  to 
this   that  there   is   a   physical  difference   between   the^ 
white   and  black   races   which,   I   believe,   will   forever 
forbid  the  two  living  together  on  terms  of  social  and 
political  equality." 

345 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Yet,"  the  Senator  sneered,  "you  can  change  your 
mind.  You  said  in  your  Inaugural  that  you  had  no 
intention  or  right  to  interfere  with  the  institution  of 
Slavery.  You  did  so  just  the  same." 

"As  an  act  of  war  to  save  the  Union  only.  But 
mark  you,  I  have  always  hated  Slavery  from  princi- 
pie  for  the  white  man's  sake  as  well  as  the  negro's. 
I  am  equally  determined  on  principle  that  the  negro 
race  after  it  is  free  shall  never  be  absorbed  into  our 
social  or  political  life!" 

"You'll  change  your  principles  or  retire  to  private 
life !"  the  old  man  snapped. 

"When  I  have  saved  the  Union  we  shall  see.  Time 
will  indicate  the  wisdom  of  my  position.  I  have  no 
longer  any  ambition  except  to  give  the  best  that's  in 
me  to  my  people." 

The  breach  between  the  President  and  the  most  pow 
erful  leaders  of  his  own  party  was  now  complete.  It 
was  a  difference  that  was  fundamental  and  irreconcil 
able.  They  asked  him  to  extend  the  autocratic  power 
he  wielded  to  preserve  the  Union  in  a  time  of  war  to 
a  program  of  revenge  and  proscription  against  the 
South  as  it  should  fall  before  the  advancing  army.  His 
answer  was  simple: 

"Secession  was  void  from  the  beginning.  The  South 
shall  not  be  laid  waste  as  conquered  territory  when  the 
Union  is  restored.  They  shall  return  as  our  brethren 
to  live  with  us  in  peace  and  good  will  with  the  curse 
of  Slavery  lifted  from  them  and  their  children.  Nor 
will  I  permit  the  absorption  of  this  black  blood  into 
our  racial  stock  to  degrade  our  National  character. 
When  free,  the  negro  must  return  to  his  own." 

With  fierce,  sullen  determination  the  Radical  wing 


THE    CONSPIRACY 


of  his  party  organized  a  secret  powerful  conspiracy 
to  drive  Abraham  Lincoln  from  public  life. 

Behind  this  first  line  of  attack  stood  the  Democratic 
party  with  its  millions  of  loyal  voters  now  united  under 
George  B.  McClellan.  The  Radicals  and  the  Demo 
crats  hated  each  other  with  a  passion  second  only 
to  their  hatred  of  the  President.  They  agreed  to 
remove  him  first  and  then  settle  their  own  differences. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

THE    TUG    OF    WAR 

Betty  Winter,  having  made  up  her  mind  to  put  John 
Vaughan  out  of  her  life  for  all  time,  volunteered  for 
field  service  as  a  nurse  and  by  permission  of  the  Presi 
dent  joined  Burnside's  army  before  Fredericksburg. 

The  General  had  brought  its  effective  fighting  force 
to  a  hundred  and  thirteen  thousand.  Lee's  army  con 
fronted  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rappahannock 
with  seventy-five  thousand  men.  A  great  battle  was 
impending. 

Burnside  had  reluctantly  assumed  command.  He 
was  a  gallant,  genial,  cultured  soldier,  a  gentleman 
of  the  highest  type,  a  pure,  unselfish  patriot  with  not 
a  trace  of  vulgar  ambition  or  self-seeking.  He  saw 
the  President  hounded  and  badgered  by  his  own  party, 
assaulted  and  denounced  in  the  bitterest  terms  by  the 
opposition,  and  he  knew  that  the  remedy  could  be 
found  only  in  a  fighting,  victorious  army.  A  single 
decisive  victory  would  turn  the  tide  of  public  opinion, 
unite  the  faction-ridden  army  and  thrill  the  Nation 
with  enthusiasm. 

He  determined  to  fight  at  once  and  risk  his  fate  as 
a  commander  on  the  issue  of  victory  or  defeat.  His 
council  of  war  had  voted  against  an  attack  on  Lee's 
army  in  Fredericksburg.  Burnside  brushed  their  de 
cision  aside  as  part  of  the  quarrel  McClellan  has  left. 

348 


THE    TUG   OF    WAR 


Even  the  men  in  the  ranks  were  fighting  each  other 
daily  in  these  miserable  bickerings  and  intrigues.  A 
victory  was  the  remedy  for  their  troubles,  and  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  fight  for  it. 

The  General  received  Betty  with  the  greatest  cour 
tesy : 

"You're  more  than  welcome  at  this  moment,  Miss 
Winter.  The  surgeons  won't  let  you  in  some  of  their 
field  hospitals.  But  there's  work  to  be  done  preparing 
our  corps  for  the  battle  we're  going  to  fight.  You'll 
have  plenty  to  do." 

"Thank  you,  General,"  she  gravely  answered. 

Burnside  read  for  the  second  time  the  gracious  let 
ter  from  the  President  which  Betty  presented. 

"You're  evidently  pretty  strong  with  this  admin 
istration,  Miss  Betty,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes.  The  patience  and  wisdom  of  the  President 
is  a  hobby  of  mine." 

"Then  I'll  ask  you  to  review  the  army  with  me. 
You  can  report  to  him." 

Within  an  hour  they  were  passing  in  serried  lines 
before  the  Commander.  Betty  watched  them  march 
with  a  thrill  of  patriotic  pride,  a  hundred  and  thirteen 
thousand  men,  their  dark  blue  uniforms  pouring  past 
like  the  waters  of  a  mighty  river,  the  December  sun 
gleaming  on  their  polished  bayonets  as  on  so  many 
icicles  flashing  on. its  surface. 

Her  heart  suddenly  stood  still.  There  before  her 
marched  John  Vaughan  in  the  outer  line  of  a  regiment, 
his  eyes  straight  in  front,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  the  left.  He  was  a  private  in  the  ranks,  clean  and 
sober,  his  face  rugged,  strong  and  sun-tanned. 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  battle  inside  that  tested 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


her  strength.  He  had  not  seen  her  and  was  oblivious 
of  her  existence  apparently.  But  she  had  noted  the 
regiment  under  whose  flag  he  marched.  It  would  be 
easy  to  find  him  if  she  wished. 

When  the  first  moment  of  love-sickness  and  utter 
longing  passed,  she  had  no  desire  to  see  him.  The 
dead  could  bury  its  dead.  Her  love  was  a  thing  of 
the  past.  The  cruel  thing  in  this  man's  nature  she  had 
seen  the  first  day  was  there  still.  She  saw  it  with  a 
shudder  in  his  red,  half-drunken  eyes  the  day  they  met 
in  Washington,  saw  it  so  plainly,  so  glaringly,  the 
memory  of  it  could  never  fade.  He  was  sober  and  in 
his  right  mind  now,  his  cheeks  bronzed  with  the  new 
life  of  sunshine  and  open  air  the  army  had  given. 
The  thing  was  still  there.  It  spoke  in  the  brute 
strength  of  his  powerful  body  as  his  marching  feet 
struck  the  ground,  in  the  iron  look  about  his  broad 
shoulders,  the  careless  strength  with  which  he  carried 
his  musket  as  if  it  were  a  feather,  and  above  all  in  the 
hard  cold  glint  from  his  shining  eyes  set  straight  in 
front. 

She  lay  awake  for  hours  on  the  little  white  cot  at 
the  headquarters  of  the  ambulance  corps  reviewing 
her  life  and  dropped  to  sleep  at  last  with  a  deep 
sense  of  gratitude  to  God  that  she  was  free,  and  could 
give  herself  in  unselfish  devotion  to  her  country.  Her 
last  waking  thoughts  were  of  Ned  Vaughan  and  the 
sweet,  foolish  worship  he  had  laid  at  her  feet.  She  won 
dered  vaguely  if  he  were  in  those  grey  lines  beyond 
the  river.  Ned  Vaughan  was  there  this  time — back  with 
Jiis  regiment. 

Lee,  Jackson  and  Longstreet  had  known  for  days 
that  a  battle  was  imminent.  Their  scouts  from  over 

350 


THE   TUG   OF    WAR 


the  river  had  brought  positive  information.  The  Con 
federate  leaders  had  already  planned  the  conflict. 
Their  battle  lines  circled  the  hills  beyond  Fredericks- 
burg,  spread  out  in  a  crescent  five  miles  long.  Nature 
had  piled  these  five  miles  of  hills  around  Fredericksburg 
as  if  to  build  an  impregnable  fortress.  On  every 
crest,  concealed  behind  trees  and  bushes,  the  Confed 
erate  artillery  was  in  place — its  guns  trained  to  sweep 
the  wide  plain  with  a  double  cross  fire,  besides  sending 
a  storm  of  shot  and  shell  straight  from  the  centre. 
Sixty  thousand  matchless  grey  infantry  crouched 
among  those  bushes  and  lay  beside  stone  walls,  in 
sunken  roadways  or  newly  turned  trenches. 

The  great  fan-shaped  death-trap  had  been  carefully 
planned  and  set  by  a  master  mind.  Only  a  handful 
of  sharpshooters  and  a  few  pieces  of  artillery  had 
been  left  in  Fredericksburg  to  dispute  the  passage 
of  the  river  and  deceive  Burnside  with  a  pretense  of 
defending  the  town. 

The  Confederate  soldier  was  ragged  and  his  shoes 
were  tied  together  with  strings.  His  uniform  consisted 
of  an  old  hat  or  cap  usually  without  a  brim,  a  shirt 
of  striped  bed-ticking  so  brown  it  seemed  woven  of  the 
grass.  The  buttons  were  of  discolored  cow's  horn. 
His  coat  was  the  color  of  Virginia  dust  and  mud,  and 
it  was  out  at  the  elbow.  His  socks  were  home-made, 
knit  by  loving  hands  swift  and  tender  in  their  endless 
work  of  love.  The  socks  were  the  best  things  he  had*. 

The  one  spotless  thing  about  him  was  his  musket 
and  the  bayonet  he  carried  at  his  side.  His  spirits 
were  high. 

A  barefooted  soldier  had  managed  to  get  home  and 
secure  a  pair  of  boots.  He  started  back  to  his  regi- 

351 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


ment  hurrying  to  be  on  time  for  the  fight.  The  new 
boots  hurt  him  so  terribly  he  couldn't  wear  them.  He 
passed  Ned's  regiment  with  his  precious  footgear  hang 
ing  on  his  arm. 

"Hello,  Sonny,  what  command?"  Ned  cried. 

"Company  E,  12th  Virginia,  Mahone's  brigade!"  he 
proudly  answered. 

"Yes,  damn  you,"  a  soldier  drawled  from  the  grass, 
"and  you've  pulled  your  boots  off,  holdin'  'em  in  yer 
hand,  ready  to  run  now!" 

The  laugh  ran  along  the  line  and  the  boy  hurried 
on  to  escape  the  chaff. 

A  well-known  chaplain  rode  along  a  narrow  path 
on  the  hillside.  He  was  mounted  on  an  old  horse 
whose  hip  bones  protruded  like  two  deadly  fangs.  A 
footsore  Confederate  was  hobbling  as  fast  as  he  could 
in  front  of  him,  glancing  back  over  his  shoulder  now 
and  then  uneasily. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,  my  friend,"  the  parson 
called,  "I'm  not  going  to  run  over  you." 

"I  know  you  ain't,"  the  soldier  laughed,  "but  ef  I 
wuz  ter  let  you  pass  me,  and  that  thing  wuz  ter 
wobble  I'll  be  doggoned  ef  I  wouldn't  be  gored  ter 
death!" 

The  preacher  reined  his  steed  in  with  dignity  and 
spoke  with  wounded  pride : 

"My  friend,  this  is  a  better  horse  than  our  Lord 
rode  into  Jerusalem  on!" 

The  soldier  stepped  up  quickly,  opened  the  animal's 
mouth  and  grinned: 

"Parson,  that's  the  very  same  horse!" 

A  shout  rose  from  the  hill  in  which  the  preacher 
joined. 

352 


THE   TUG   OF   WAR 


"Dod  bam  it,  did  ye  ever  hear  the  beat  o'  that!" 
shouted  a  pious  fellow  who  was  inventing  cuss  words 
that  would  pass  the  charge  of  profanity. 

A  distinguished  citizen  of  Fredericksburg  passed 
along  the  lines  wearing  a  tall  new  silk  hat.  He 
didn't  get  very  far  before  he  changed  his  line  of 
march.  A  regular  fusillade  poured  on  him  from  the 
ranks. 

"Say,  man,  is  dat  a  hat  er  a  bee  gum?" 

"Come  down  now!" 

"Come  down  outen  that  hat  an*  help  us  with  these 
Yanks!" 

"Come  down  I  say — I  know  you're  up  there  for  I 
can  see  your  legs!" 

When  the  silk  hat  vanished,  a  solemn  country  boy 
with  slight  knowledge  of  books  began  to  discuss  the 
great  mysteries  of  eternity. 

Ned  had  won  his  unbounded  faith  and  admiration 
by  spelling  at  the  first  trial  the  name  of  his  native 
village  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia — McGaheysville.  Tom 
held  this  fact  to  be  a  marvellous  intellectual  achieve 
ment. 

"What  I  want  to  know,  Ned,  is  this,"  he  drawled, 
"who  started  sin  in  this  world,  anyhow?  What  makes 
a  good  thing  good  and  what  makes  a  bad  thing  bad, 
and  who  said  so  first?" 

"That's  what  I'd  like  to  know  myself,  Tom,"  Ned 
gravely  answered. 

"An'  ye  don't  know?" 

"I  certainly  do  not." 

"I  don't  see  why  any  man  that  can  spell  like  you 
don't  know  everything." 

He  paused,  picked  up  a  pebble  and  threw  it  at  a 
353 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


comrade's  foot  and  laughed  to  see  him  jump  as  from 
a  Minie  ball. 

"You  know,  Ned,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "what  I  think 
is  the  prettiest  piece  of  poetry?" 

«No— what?" 

"Hit's  this: 

'  'The  men  of  high  condition 

That  rule  affairs  of  State; 
Their  purpose  is  ambition, 

Their  practice  only  hate.'  " 

"Pretty  good,  Tom,"  was  the  quick^  reply,  "but  I 
think  I  can  beat  it  with  something  more  hopeful.  I  got 
it  in  Sunday  School  out  in  Missouri: 

'  'The  sword  and  spear,  of  needless  worth, 
Shall  prune  the  tree  and  plot%h  the  earth; 
And  Peace  shall  smile  from  shore  to  shore 
And  Nations  learn  to  war  no  more.'  " 

The  country  boy's  eyes  gleamed  with  eager  approval. 
He  had  fought  for  nearly  two  years  and  the  glory 
of  war  was  beginning  to  lose  its  glamour. 

"Say  that  again,  Ned,"  he  pleaded.  "Say  it  again! 
That's  the  prettiest  thing  I  ever  heard  in  my  life !" 

He  was  silent  a  moment: 

"Yes,  I  used  to  think  it  would  be  glorious  to  hear 
the  thunder  of  guns  and  the  shriek  of  shells.  I've 
changed  my  mind.  When  I  hear  one  of  'em  comin' 
now,  I  begin  to  sing  to  myself  the  old-fashioned  tune 
I  used  to  hear  in  the  revivals: 

"  'Hark  from  the  tomb  a  doleful  sound ! 

'My  thoughts  in  dreadful  subjects  roll  damnation  and  the 

dead '  " 

354 


THE   TUG   OF    WAR 


I've  an  idea  we're  going  to  sing  some  o'  them  old  songs 
on  this  field  pretty  soon." 

Again  Ned  thought  of  John  and  offered  a  silent 
prayer  that  he  might  not  be  in  those  blue  lines  that 
ivere  going  to  charge  into  the  jaws  which  Death  had 
opened  for  them  in  the  valley  below. 

John  Vaughan  in  his  tent  beyond  the  Rappahannock 
was  wasting  no  energy  worrying  about  the  coming 
battle.  Death  had  ceased  to  be  a  matter  of  personal 
concern.  He  had  seen  so  many  dead  and  wounded 
men  as  he  had  ridden  over  battlefields  he  had  come 
to  take  them  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  was  going 
into  action  now  for  the  first  time  in  the  ranks  as  a 
private  soldier  and  he  would  see  things  happen  at 
closer  range — that  was  all.  He  wished  to  see  them 
that  way.  He  had  reached  the  point  of  utter  in 
difference  to  personal  danger  and  it  brought  a  new 
consciousness  of  strength  that  was  inspiring.  He  had 
stopped  dreaming  of  the  happiness  of  love  after  the 
exhibition  he  had  made  of  himself  before  Betty  Winter 
and  the  brutal  insult  with  which  he  met  her  advances. 
Some  girls  might  forgive  it,  but  not  this  proud,  sensi 
tive,  high  strung  daughter  of  the  snows  of  New  Eng 
land  and  the  sunlight  of  France.  And  so  he  had 
resolutely  put  the  thought  out  of  his  heart. 

Julius  had  proven  himself  a  valuable  servant.  He 
was  the  best  cook  in  the  regiment,  and  what  was  still 
more  important,  he  was  the  most  skillful  thief  and  the 
most  plausible  liar  in  the  army.  He  could  defend  him 
self  so  nobly  from  the  insinuations  of  the  suspicious 
that  they  would  apologize  for  the  wrong  unwittingly 
done  his  character.  John  had  not  lived  so  well  since 
he  could  remember. 

355 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Julius,  you're  a  handy  man  in  war!"  he  exclaimed 
after  a  hearty  supper  on  fried  chicken. 

"Yassah — I  manage  ter  git  'long,  sah." 

Julius  took  up  his  banjo  and  began  to  tune  it  for 
an  accompaniment  to  his  songs.  He  had  a  mellow 
rhythmical  voice  that  always  brought  the  crowd.  He 
began  with  his  favorite  that  never  failed  to  please  his 
master.  The  way  he  rolled  his  eyes  and  sang  with  his 
hands  and  feet  and  every  muscle  of  his  body  was  the 
source  of  unending  interest  to  his  Northern  audience. 

He  ran  his  fingers  lightly  over  the  strings  and  the 
men  threw  down  their  dirty  packs  of  cards  and  crowded 
around  John's  tent.  Julius  only  sang  one  line  at  a 
time  and  picked  his  banjo  between  them  to  a  low  wail 
ing  sound  of  his  own  invention: 

"O!  far*  you  well,  my  Mary  Ann; 
Far'  you  well,  my  dear! 
I've  no  one  left  to  love  me  now 
And  little  do  I  care " 

He  paused  between  the  stanzas  and  picked  his  banjo 
to  a  few  prose  interpolations  of  his  own. 

"Dat's  what  I'm  a  tellin'  ye  now,  folks — little  do 
I  care!" 

He  knew  his  master  had  been  crossed  in  love  and 
he  rolled  his  eyes  and  nodded  his  woolly  head  in  tri 
umphant  approval.  John  smiled  wanly  as  he  drifted 
slowly  into  his  next  stanza. 

"An'  ef  I  had  a  scoldin'  wife 
I'd  whip  her  sho's  yer  born, 
I'd  take  her  down  to  New  Orleans 
An'  trade  her  off  fer  corn " 

356 


THE    TUG   OF    WAR 


Julius  stopped  with  a  sudden  snap  and  whispered 
to  John : 

"Lordy,  sah,  I  clean  fergit  'bout  dat  meetin'  at  de 
cullud  folks'  church,  sah,  dat  dey  start  up.  I  promise 
de  preacher  ter  fetch  you,  sah — An'  ef  we  gwine  ter 
march  ter-morrow,  dis  here's  de  las'  night  sho " 

The  concert  was  adjourned  to  the  log  house  which 
an  old  colored  preacher  had  converted  into  a  church. 
It  was  filled  to  its  capacity  and  John  stood  in  the 
doorway  and  heard  the  most  remarkable  sermon  to 
which  he  had  ever  listened. 

The  grey-haired  old  negro  was  tremendously  in  earn 
est.  He  could  neither  read  nor  write  but  he  opened 
the  Bible  to  comply  with  the  formalities  of  the  occasion 
and  pretended  to  read  his  text.  He  had  taken  it  from 
his  master  who  was  a  clergyman.  Ephraim  invariably 
chose  the  same  texts  but  gave  his  people  his  own 
interpretation.  It  never  failed  in  some  element  of  orig-  , 
inality. 

The  text  his  master  had  evidently  chosen  last  were 
the  words: 

"And  he  healeth  them  of  divers  diseases." 

Old  Ephraim's  version  was  a  free  one.  From  the 
open  Bible  he  solemnly  read: 

"An5  he  healed  'em  of  all  sorts  o'  diseases  an'  even 
er  dat  wust  o'  complaints  called  de  Divers !" 

He  plunged  straight  into  a  fervent  exhortation  to 
sinners  to  flee  from  the  Divers. 

"I'm  gwine  ter  tell  ye  now,  chillun,"  he  exclaimed 
with  uplifted  arms,  "ye  don't  know  nuttin'  'bout  no 
terrible  diseases  till  dat  wust  er  all  called  de  Divers 
git  ye!  An'  hit's  a  comin'  I  tell  ye.  Hit's  gwine 
ter  git  ye,  too.  Ye  can  flee  ter  the  mountain  top,  an' 

357 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


hit'll  dive  right  up  froo  de  air  an'  git  ye  dar.  Ye 
kin  go  down  inter  de  bowels  er  de  yearth  an'  hit'll 
dive  right  down  dar  atter  ye.  Ye  kin  take  de  wings 
er  de  mornin'  an'  fly  ter  de  ends  er  de  yearth — an' 
de  Divers  is  dar.  Dey  kin  dive  any whar ! 

"An'  what  ye  gwine  ter  do  when  dey  git  ye?  I  axe 
ye  dat  now?  What  ye  gwine  ter  do  when  hit's  forever 
an'  eternally  too  late?  Dese  doctors  roun'  here  kin 
cure  ye  o'  de  whoopin'-cough — mebbe — I  hain't  nebber 
seed  'em  eben  do  dat — but  I  say,  mebbe.  Dey  kin 
cure  ye  o'  de  measles,  mebbe.  Er  de  plumbago  or  de 
typhoid  er  de  yaller  fever  sometimes.  But  I  warns 
ye  now  ter  flee  de  wrath  dat's  ter  come  when  dem 
Divers  git  ye!  Dey  ain't  no  doctor  no  good  fer  dat 
nowhar — exceptin'  ye  come  ter  de  Lord.  For  He  heal 
'em  er  all  sorts  er  diseases  an'  de  wust  er  all  de  com 
plaints  called  de  Divers ! 

"Come,  humble  sinners,  in  whose  breast  er  thousand 
thoughts  revolve!" 

John  Vaughan  turned  away  with  a  smile  and  a  tear. 

"In  God's  name,"  he  murmured  thoughtfully,  "what's 
to  become  of  these  four  million  black  children  of  the 
tropic  jungles  if  we  win  now  and  set  them  free! 
Their  fathers  and  mothers  were  but  yesterday  eating 
human  flesh  in  naked  savagery." 

He  walked  slowly  back  to  his  tent  through  the  sol 
emn  star-lit  night.  The  new  moon,  a  silver  thread, 
hung  over  the  tree  tops.  He  thought  of  that  dusky 
grey-haired  child  of  four  thousand  years  of  ignorance 
;and  helplessness  and  the  tragic  role  he  had  played  in 
the  history  of  our  people.  And  for  the  first  time  faced 

358 


THE   TUG   OF    WAR 


the  question  of  the  still  more  tragic  role  he  might  play 
in  the  future. 

"I'm  fighting  to  free  him  and  the  millions  like  him," 
he  mused.  "What  am  I  going  to  do  with  him?" 

The  longer  he  thought  the  blacker  and  more  insolu 
ble  became  this  question,  and  yet  he  was  going  into 
battle  to-morrow  to  fight  his  own  brother  to  the  death 
on  this  issue.  True  the  problem  of  national  existence 
was  at  stake,  but  this  black  problem  of  the  possible 
degradation  of  our  racial  stock  and  our  national  char 
acter  still  lay  back  of  it  unsolved  and  possibly  in 
soluble. 

The  red  flash  of  a  picket's  gun  on  the  shore  of  the 
river  and  the  quick  answer  from  the  other  side  brought 
his  dreaming  to  a  sudden  stop  before  the  sterner  fact 
of  the  swiftly  approaching  battle. 

He  snatched  but  a  few  hours  sleep  before  his  regi 
ment  was  up  and  on  the  march  to  the  water's  edge. 
A  dense  grey  fog  hung  over  the  river  and  obscured  the 
town.  The  bridge  builders  swung  their  pontoons  into 
the  water  and  soon  the  sound  of  timbers  falling  into 
place  could  be  heard  with  the  splash  of  the  anchors 
and  the  low  quick  commands  of  the  officers. 

The  grey  sharpshooters,  concealed  on  the  other 
shore,  began  to  fire  across  the  water  through  the  fog. 
The  sound  was  strangely  magnified.  The  single  crack 
of  a  musket  seemed  as  loud  as  a  cannon. 

The  work  went  quickly.  The  bullets  flew  wide  of  the 
mark.  The  fog  suddenly  lifted  and  a  steady  fusillade 
from  the  men  hidden  in  the  hills  of  Fredericksburg 
began  to  pick  off  the  bridge  builders  with  cruel  ac 
curacy.  At  times  every  man  was  down.  New  men 
were  rushed  to  take  their  places  and  they  fell. 

359 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  signal  was  given  to  the  artillery  and  a  hundred 
and  forty-seven  great  guns  suddenly  began  to  sweep 
the  doomed  town.  Houses  crumpled  like  egg-shells 
and  fires  began  to  blaze. 

The  sharpshooters  fell  back.  The  bridges  were  laid 
and  the  grand  army  of  a  hundred  and  thirteen  thou 
sand  began  to  pour  across.  The  caissons,  with  their 
huge  black,  rifled-barrel  guns  rumbling  along  the  re 
sounding  boards  in  a  continuous  roar  like  distant 
thunder. 

On  the  southern  shore  the  deep  mud  cut  hills  put 
every  team  to  the  test  of  its  strength  and  the  utmost 
skill  of  their  drivers.  Hundreds  of  men  were  in  the 
mud  at  the  wheels  and  still  they  would  stick. 

And  then  the  patient  heavens  above  heard  the  voices 
of  army  teamsters  in  plain  and  ornamental  swearing! 
Such  profanity  was  probably  never  heard  on  this 
earth  before  and  it  may  well  be  hoped  will  not  be 
heard  again. 

The  driver  whose  wheels  had  stuck,  cracked  his 
whip  first  and  yelled.  He  yelled  again  and  cracked 
his  whip.  And  then  he  began  to  swear,  loudly,  and 
angrily  at  first  and  then  in  lower,  steadier,  more  polite 
terms — but  always  in  an  unending  nerve-racking  tor 
rent. 

He  cursed  his  mules  individually  by  name  and  the 
whole  team  collectively,  and  consigned  it  to  the  lowest 
depth  of  the  deepest  hell  and  then  the  devil  for  not 
providing  a  deeper  one.  Each  trait  of  each  mule, 
good  and  bad,  he  named  without  fear  or  favor  and 
damned  each  alike  with  equal  emphasis.  He  named 
each  part  of  each  mule's  anatomy  and  damned  it  in 
dividually  and  as  a  whole,  with  full  bill  of  particulars. 

360 


THE   TUG   OF    WAR 


He  swore  in  every  key  in  the  whole  gamut  of  sound 
and  last  of  all  he  damned  himself  for  his  utter  in 
ability  to  express  anything  he  really  felt. 

The  last  big  gun  up  the  hill  and  the  infantry  poured 
into  the  town  of  Fredericksburg,  halting  in  regiments 
and  brigades  in  its  streets.  Only  a  few  shots  had  been 
exchanged  with  the  men  in  grey.  They  had  with 
drawn  to  the  heights  a  mile  beyond.  The  assault 
had  been  a  mere  parade.  Many  of  the  inhabitants 
had  fled  in  terror  at  the  approach  of  the  men  in  blue. 
Some  of  the  lower  types  of  soldiers  in  the  Northern 
army  broke  into  these  deserted  houses  and  began  to 
rob  and  pillage. 

Julius  "found"  many  delicacies  lying  about  on  lawns 
and  in  various  unheard-of  places.  His  master  never 
pressed  him  with  rude  questions  when  his  zeal  bore  such 
good  results  for  their  table. 

Ned  Vaughan  had  been  very  much  amused  at  an 
old  woman  who  had  been  driven  from  her  home  by 
marauders.  She  had  piled  such  goods  and  chattels 
as  she  could  handle  into  an  ox  cart  and  drove  past 
the  grey  battle  lines,  hurrying  as  fast  as  she  could 
Southward.  Her  wrinkled  old  face  beamed  with  joy 
at  the  sight  of  their  burnished  muskets  and  her 
eyes  flashed  with  the  gleam  of  an  Amazon  as  she 
shouted : 

"Give  it  to  the  damned  rascals,  boys !  Give  'em 
one  fer  me — one  fer  me  and  don't  you  forget  it!" 

Far  down  the  line  she  could  be  heard  delivering  her 
fierce  exhortation.  The  men  smiled  and  answered  her 
good-naturedly.  The  day  of  wrath  and  death  had 
dawned.  It  was  too  solemn  an  hour  for  boastful 
words. 

361 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


For  two  days  the  grand  army  in  blue  poured  across 
the  river  and  spread  out  through  the  town  of  Freder- 
icksburg.  The  fateful  morning  of  the  13th  of  Decem 
ber,  1862,  dawned  in  another  heavy  fog.  Its  grey 
mantle  of  mystery  shrouded  the  town,  clung  wet  and 
heavy  to  the  ground  in  the  silent  valley  before  the 
crescent-shaped  hills  and  veiled  the  face  of  their 
heights. 

Under  the  cover  of  this  fog  the  long  waves  of  blue 
spread  out  in  the  edge  of  the  valley  and  took  their 
places  in  battle  line.  The  grey  men  in  the  brown 
grass  on  the  hills  crouched  behind  their  ditches 
and  stone  walls,  gripped  their  guns  and  waited  for 
the  foe  to  walk  into  the  trap  their  commanders  had 
set. 

An  unseen  hand  slowly  lifted  the  misty  curtain  and 
the  sun  burst  on  the  scene.  The  valley  lay  like  the 
smooth  ground  of  some  vast  arena  prepared  for  a 
pageant  and  back  of  it  rose  the  silent  hills,  tier  on 
tier  like  the  seats  of  a  mighty  amphitheatre.  But  the 
men  crouching  on  those  seats  were  not  spectators — 
they  were  the  grimmest  actors  in  the  tragedy. 

For  a  moment  it  was  a  spectacle  merely — the  grand 
est  display  of  the  pageantry  of  war  ever  made  on 
a  field  of  death. 

Franklin's  division  suddenly  wheeled  into  position  for 
its  united  assault  on  the  right. 

Ned  Vaughan,  from  his  lair  on  the  hill,  could  see 
the  officers  in  their  magnificent  new  uniforms,  their 
swords  flashing  as  they  led  their  men.  A  hundred 
thousand  bayonets  were  gleaming  in  the  sparkling 
December  sun.  Magnificent  horses  in  rich  tasselled 
trappings  were  plunging  and  prancing  with  the  ex- 

362 


THE   TUG   OF    WAR 


citement   of   marching   hosts,    some    of   them   keeping 
time  to   the  throb  of  regimental  bands. 

The  bands  were  playing  now,  all  of  them,  a  band 
for  every  thousand  men,  the  shrill  scream  of  their 
bugles  and  the  roar  of  their  drums  sending  a  mighty 
chorus  into  the  heavens  that  echoed  ominously  against 
the  silent  hills. 

And  flags,  flags,  flags,  were  streaming  in  billowy 
waves  of  red,  white  and  blue,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach ! 

"Isn't  that  pretty,  boys!"  Ned  sighed  admiringly. 

Tom  lifted  his  solemn  eyes  from  the  grass. 

"Lord,  Lord,  look  at  them  new  warm  clothes,  an' 
my  elbows  a-freezin'  in  this  cold  wind !" 

"Ain't  it  a  picture?" 

"What  a  pity  to  spile  it!" 

A  ripple  of  admiration  ran  along  the  crouching 
lines  as  fingers  softly  felt  for  the  triggers  of  their 
guns. 

A  quick  order  from  John  Vaughan's  Colonel  sent 
their  battery  of  artillery  rattling  and  bounding  into 
position.  The  cannoneers  sprang  to  their  mounts. 
A  handsome  young  fellow  missed  his  foothold  and 
fell  beneath  the  wheels.  The  big  iron  tire  crushed  his 
neck  and  the  blood  from  his  mouth  splashed  into 
John's  face.  The  men  on  the  guns  didn't  turn  their 
heads  to  look  back.  Their  eyes  were  searching  the 
brown  hills  before  them. 

The  long  roll  beat  from  a  thousand  drums,  the  call 
of  the  buglers  rang  over  the  valley — and  then  the 
strange,  solemn  silence  that  comes  before  the  shock — 
the  moment  when  cowards  collapse  and  the  brave 
falter. 

363 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


John  Vaughan's  soul  rose  in  a  fierce  challenge  to 
fate.  If  he  died  it  was  well;  if  he  lived  it  was  the 
same.  He  had  ceased  to  care. 

At  exactly  eight-thirty,  General  Meade  hurled  his 
division,  supported  by  Doubleday  and  Gibbon,  against 
Jackson's  weakest  point,  the  right  of  the  Confederate 
lines.  Their  aim  was  to  seize  an  opposing  hill.  The 
curving  lines  of  grey  were  silent  until  the  charging 
hosts  were  well  advanced  in  deadly  range  and  then  the 
brown  hills  flamed  and  roared  in  front  and  on  their 
flanks. 

The  blue  lines  were  mowed  down  in  swaths  as  though 
the  giant  figure  of  Death  had  suddenly  swung  his 
scythe  from  the  fog  banks  in  the  sky. 

Again  and  again  came  those  awful  volleys  of  mus 
ketry  and  artillery  cross-firing  on  the  rushing  lines. 
The  men  staggered  and  recovered,  reformed  and 
charged  again  over  the  dead  bodies  of  their  comrades 
carrying  the  crest  for  a  moment.  They  captured 
a  flag  and  a  handful  of  prisoners  only  to  be  driven 
back  down  the  hill  with  losses  more  frightful  in  re 
treat  than  when  they  breasted  the  storm. 

In  the  centre  the  tragedy  was  repeated  with  results 
even  more  terrible.  As  the  charging  lines  fell  back, 
staggering,  bleeding  and  cut  to  pieces,  fresh  brigades 
threw  down  their  knapsacks,  fixed  their  bayonets  and 
charged  through  their  own  melting  ranks  into  the 
jaws  of  Death  to  fall  back  in  their  turn. 

With  a  mighty  shout  the  blue  line  swept  across  the 
railroad,  took  the  ditches  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet 
and  captured  two  hundred  grey  prisoners.  But  only 
for  a  moment.  From  the  supporting  line  rang  the 
rebel  yell  and  they  were  hurled  back,  shattered  and 


THE    TUG   OF    WAR 


cut  to  pieces.  These  retreats  were  veritable  shambles 
of  slaughter.  The  curved  lines  on  the  hills  raking 
them  with  their  deadly  accurate  cross-fire. 

John  Vaughan's  regiment  leaped  to  the  support  of 
the  falling  blue  waves. 

A  wounded  soldier  had  propped  himself  against 
a  stone  and  smiled  as  the  cheering  men  swept  by. 
He  could  rest  a  while  now. 

A  battery  of  artillery  suddenly  blazed  from  the 
hill-crest  and  his  Colonel  threw  his  command  flat  on 
their  stomachs  until  the  storm  should  slacken.  John 
heard  the  shrill  deadly  swish  of  the  big  shots  passing 
two  feet  above. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  hill  and  a  frightened  pigeon 
suddenly  swooped  straight  down  toward  his  head.  He 
ducked  quickly,  sure  he  had  escaped  a  cannon  ball  until 
the  laugh  of  the  man  at  his  side  told  of  his  mistake. 

They  rose  to  charge.  The  knapsack  of  the  man 
who  had  laughed  was  struck  by  a  ball  and  a  deck  of 
cards  sent  flying  ten  feet  in  the  air. 

"Deal  me  a  winning  hand !"  John  shouted. 

A  shot  cut  the  sword  belt  of  the  first  lieutenant, 
left  him  uninjured,  glanced  and  killed  the  captain. 
The  lieutenant  picked  up  his  sword,  took  his  cap 
tain's  place  and  led  the  charge. 

Men  were  falling  on  the  right  and  left  and  John 
Vaughan  loaded  and  fired  with  steady,  dogged  nerve 
without  a  scratch. 

Four  times  the  blue  billows  had  dashed  against  the 
hills  only  to  fall  back  in  red  confusion.  The  din  and 
roar  were  indescribable.  The  color-bearer  of  the  regi 
ment  confused  by  conflicting  orders  paused  and  asked 
for  instructions.  The  Colonel,  mistaking  his  act  for 

365 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


retreat,  tore  the  colors  from  his  hand  and  gave  them 
to  another  man.  The  boy  burst  into  tears.  The  new 
color-bearer  had  scarcely  lifted  the  flag  above  his 
head  when  he  fell.  The  disgraced  soldier  snatched  the 
tottering  flagstaff  and,  lifting  it  on  high,  dashed  up 
the  hill  ahead  of  his  line  of  battle. 

The  men  were  ducking  their  heads  low  beneath  the 
fierce  hail  of  lead  and  staggering  blindly. 

John  saw  this  boy  waving  his  flag  and  shaking  his 
fist  back  at  the  halting  line.  He  was  not  a  hundred 
feet  from  the  Confederate  trenches. 

"Come  on  there!"  he  shouted.  "Damn  it,  what's 
the  matter  with  you?" 

Ned  Vaughan  and  his  grey  men  behind  the  little 
mound  of  red  dirt  were  watching  this  drama  with 
flashing  eyes.  Beside  him  crouched  a  boy  whose  early 
piety  had  marked  him  for  the  ministry.  But  he  had 
wandered  from  the  fold  in  the  stress  of  army  life. 
Ned  heard  his  voice  now  in  low,  eager  prayer: 

"O  Lord,  drive  'em  back!  Drive  'em  back,  O  Lord!" 

He  fired  his  musket  down  the  hill  and  prayed 
harder : 

"Lord,  drive  'em  back!  I've  sinned  and  come  short, 
but  drive  'em,  O  Lord !" 

He  paused  and  whispered  to  Ned  as  he  reached  for 
another  cartridge: 

"Are  they  comin'  or  goin'?" 

"Coming!" 

Again  he  prayed  with  fervor: 

"Drive  'em  back,  Lord  Goddermighty,  we're  weak  and 
you're  strong — help  us  now!  Drive  em — just  this 
time,  O  Lord,  and  you  can  have  me — I'll  be  good!" 

He  paused  for  breath  and  turned  to  Ned: 
366 


THE    TUG   OF    WAR 


"Now  look! — Comin'   or  goin'?" 

"That  fellow  with  the  flag  cussin'  the  men  has 
dropped " 

"Thank  God!" 

"Another's  lifted  it " 

"Lord,  save  us !" 

"Why  don't  you  lie  down,  ye  damn  fool,"  Tom 
shouted.  "I'm  huggin'  the  ground  so  close  now  I 
don't  want  a  piece  of  paper  under  me,  and  if  there's 
got  to  be  a  piece  I  don't  want  no  writin'  on  it !" 

"Now  look,  are  they  comin'?"  the  pious  boy  gasped. 

Ned  made  no  answer.  His  wide  set  eyes  were  star 
ing  at  the  man  who  had  caught  that  color-bearer  in 
his  arms  and  was  carrying  him  to  the  rear. 

It  was  John  Vaughan ! 

His  lips  were  moving  now  in  silent  prayer  and  his 
sword  hung  limp  in  his  hands. 

Through  chattering  teeth  he  cried : 

"Don't  shoot  that  fellow  carrying  his  friend  down 
the  hill,  boys !" 

"They're  runnin'  now?"  the  pious  one  asked. 

"It  isn't  war — it's  a  massacre !"  Ned  sighed. 

The  man  of  prayer  leaped  on  the  ditch  bank  sud 
denly  and  shook  his  fist  defiantly. 

"Come  back  here,  you  damned  cowards !"  he  yelled. 
"Come  back  and  we'll  whip  hell  out  o'  you!" 

Slowly  the  shattered  regiment  fell  back  down  the 
bloody  slope,  stumbling  over  their  dead  and  wounded. 
The  dim  smoke-bound  valley  was  a  slaughter  pen. 
Where  magnificent  lines  of  blue  had  marched  with 
flashing  bayonets  and  streaming  banners  at  eight 
o'clock,  the  dead  lay  in  mangled  heaps,  and  the  wounded 
huddled  among  them  slowly  freezing  to  death. 

367 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


John  saw  a  magnificent  gun  a  heap  of  junk  with 
four  dead  horses  and  every  cannoneer  on  the  ground 
dead  or  freezing  where  they  fell.  A  single  shell  had 
done  the  work.  Riderless  horses  galloped  wildly  over 
the  field,  shying  at  the  grim  piles  of  dark  blue  bodies, 
sniffing  the  blood  and  neighing  pitifully. 

Twelve  hundred  men  in  his  regiment  had  charged 
up  that  hill.  But  two  hundred  and  fifty  came  down. 

From  the  steeple  of  the  Court  House  in  Fredericks- 
burg  General  Couch,  in  command  of  the  Second  Corps, 
stood  with  his  glasses  on  this  frightful  scene.  He 
whispered  to  Howard  by  his  side: 

"The  whole  plain  is  covered  with  our  men  fallen  and 
falling — I've  never  seen  anything  like  it!" 

He  paused,  his  lips  quivering  as  he  gasped: 

"O  my  God !  see  them  falling — poor  fellows,  falling — 
falling!" 

He  signalled  Burnside   for  reinforcemnts. 

General  Sumner's  division  on  the  Union  right  had 
charged  into  the  deadliest  trap  of  all. 

Down  the  road  toward  the  foot  of  Marye's  Heights 
his  magnificent  army  swept  at  double  quick.  The 
Confederate  batteries  had  been  specially  trained  to 
rake  this  road  from  three  directions,  right,  and  left 
flank  and  centre. 

Steadily,  stoically  the  men  in  blue  pressed  into  this 
narrow  way  in  silence  and  met  the  flaming  torrent 
from  three  directions.  Rushing  on  over  the  bodies 
of  their  fallen  comrades  the  thinning  ranks  reached 
the  old  stone  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  General 
Cobb  lay  concealed  behind  it  with  three  thousand 
infantry.  The  low  quick  order  ran  along  his  line : 

"Fire!" 

368 


THE    TUG   OF    WAR 


Straight  into  the  faces  of  the  heroic  Union  soldiers 
flashed  a  level  blinding  flame  from  three  thousand 
muskets,  slaying,  crushing,  tearing  to  pieces  the  proud 
army  of  an  hour  ago.  A  thousand  men  in  blue  fell  in 
five  minutes.  The  ground  was  piled  with  their  bodies 
until  it  was  impossible  to  charge  over  them  effectively. 

For  a  moment  a  cloud  of  smoke  pitifully  drew  a 
soft  grey  veil  over  the  awful  scene  while  the  men  who 
were  left  fell  back  in  straggling  broken  groups. 

Five  times  the  Union  hosts  had  charged  those  ter 
rible  brown  hills  and  five  times  they  had  been  rolled 
back  in  red  waves  of  blood. 

Late  in  the  day  a  fierce  bitter  wind  was  blowing 
from  the  north.  There  was  yet  time  to  turn  defeat 
into  victory.  The  desperate  Union  Commander  or 
dered  the  sixth  charge. 

The  men  in  blue  pulled  their  hats  down  low  as  if  to 
shut  out  the  pelting  hail  of  lead  and  iron  and  without 
a  murmur  charged  once  more  into  the  mouth  of  hell. 
The  winds  had  frozen  stiff  the  bodies  of  their  dead. 
The  advancing  blue  lines  snatched  these  dead  men 
from  the  ground,  carried  them  in  front,  stacked  them 
in  long  piles  for  bulwarks,  and  fought  behind  them 
with  the  desperation  of  madmen.  There  was  no  escape. 
The  keen  eyes  of  the  Confederate  Commanders  had 
planted  their  right  and  left  flanking  lines  to  pour 
death  into  these  ranks  no  matter  how  high  their 
corpses  were  piled.  The  crescent  hill  blazed  and 
roared  with  unceasing  fury.  Only  the  darkness  was 
kind  at  last. 

And  then  the  men  in  blue  planted  the  frozen  bodies 
of  their  comrades  along  the  outer  battle  line  as  dummy 
sentinels,  and  under  cover  of  the  night  began  to  slip 

369 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


back  through  Fredericksburg  and  across  the  silver 
mirror  of  the  Rappahannock  to  their  old  camp,  shat 
tered,  broken,  crushed. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  John 
Vaughan's  regiment  would  give  up  the  search  for  their 
desperately  wounded.  Only  the  strongest  could  en 
dure  that  bitter  cold.  Through  the  long,  desolate 
hours  the  pitiful  cries  of  the  wounded  men  rang 
through  the  black,  freezing  night,  and  few  hands  stirred 
to  save  them.  A  great  army  was  fighting  to  save  its 
flags  and  guns  and  reach  the  shelter  beyond  the  river. 

Amid  the  few  flickering  lanterns  could  be  heard 
the  greetings  of  friends  in  subdued  tones  as  they 
clasped  hands : 

"Is   that  you,   old  boy?" 

"God  bless  you — yes — I'm  glad  to  see  you !" 

A  dying  man  in  blue  was  pitifully  calling  for  water 
somewhere,  in  the  darkness  in  front  of  Ned  Vaughan's 
ditch.  He  took  his  canteen,  got  a  lantern  and  went 
to  find  him.  It  might  be  John.  If  not,  no  matter,  he 
was  some  other  fellow's  brother. 

As  the  light  fell  on  his  drawn  face  Ned  murmured: 

"Thank  God!" 

He   pressed   the   canteen   to   his   lips    and   held  his 
head  in  his  lap.     It  was  only  too  plain  from  the  steel 
look  out  of  the  eyes  that  his  minutes  were  numbered. 
He  moved  and  turned  his  dying  face  up  to  Ned: 
*     "Why  is  it  you  always  whip  us,  Johnny?" 

He  paused  for  breath: 

"I  wonder — every  battle  I've  been  in  we've  been 
defeated — why — why — why,  O  God,  why " 

His  head  drooped  and  he  was  still. 

Ned  wondered  if  some  waiting  loved  one  on  the  shores 
370 


THE   TUG   OF   WAR 


of  eternity  had  given  him  the  answer.  He  wrapped 
him  tenderly  in  his  blanket  and  left  him  at  rest  at  last. 

As  he  turned  toward  his  lines  the  unmistakable  wail 
of  a  baby  came  faintly  through  the  darkness — a  wee 
voice,  the  half  smothered  cry  sounding  as  if  it  were 
nestling  in  a  mother's  arms.  He  followed  the  sound 
until  his  lantern  flashed  in  the  wild  eyes  of  a  young 
woman  who  had  fled  from  her  home  in  terror  during 
the  battle  and  was  hugging  her  baby  frantically  in  her 
arms. 

Ned  led  her  gently  to  an  officer's  quarters  and  made 
her  comfortable. 

The  glory  of  war  was  fast  fading  from  his  imagina 
tion.  A  grim  spectre  was  slowly  taking  its  place. 

John's  shattered  regiment  lay  down  on  the  field 
with  the  rear  guard  at  four  o'clock  to  snatch  an  hour's 
sleep,  their  heads  pillowed  on  the  bodies  of  the  dead. 
The  cold  moderated  and  a  light  mantle  of  snow  fell 
softly  just  before  day  and  covered  the  field,  the  living 
and  the  dead.  When  the  reveille  sounded  at  dawn,  the 
bugler  looked  with  awe  at  the  thousands  of  white 
shrouded  figures  and  wondered  which  would  stir  at  his 
note.  The  living  slowly  rose  as  from  the  dead  and 
shook  their  white  shrouds.  Thousands  lay  still,  cold 
and  immovable  to  await  the  archangel's  mightier  call 
at  the  last. 

Beyond  the  river,  through  the  long  night,  Burnside, 
wild  with  anguish,  had  paced  the  floor  of  his  tent. 
Again  and  again  he  threw  his  arms  in  a  gesture  of 
despair  toward  the  freezing  blood-stained  field: 

"Oh,  those  men — those  men  over  there!  I'm  think 
ing  of  them  all  the  time " 

As  the  rear  guard  turned  from  the  field  at  sunrise, 
371 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


John  Vaughan  looked  back  across  the  valley  of  Death 
and  saw  the  ragged  brown  and  grey  figures  shivering 
in  the  cold,  as  they  swarmed  down  from  the  hills  and 
began  to  shake  the  frost  from  the  new,  warm  clothes 
they  were  stripping  from  the  dead. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE    REST    HOUR 

For  two  terrible  days  and  nights  Betty  Winter  saw 
the  endless  line  of  ambulances  creep  from  the  field  of 
Fredericksburg.  Some  of  these  men  lay  on  the  frozen 
ground  for  forty-eight  hours  before  relief  came.  Many 
of  the  wounded  might  have  lived  but  for  the  frightful 
exposure  to  cold  which  followed  the  battle.  They 
died  in  hundreds. 

Thousands  were  placed  on  the  train  for  Washington 
and  so  great  was  the  pitiful  suffering  among  them 
Betty  left  with  the  first  load.  There  would  be  more 
work  in  the  hospitals  there  than  in  Burnside's  camp. 
It  would  be  many  a  day  before  his  shattered  army 
could  be  ready  again  to  give  battle. 

The  worst  trouble  with  it  was  not  the  bleeding  gap 
torn  through  its  ranks  by  Lee's  shot  and  shell.  Not 
only  was  its  body  wounded,  its  soul  was  crushed.  Its 
commanding  generals  were  divided  into  warring  fac 
tions,  the  rank  and  file  of  its  stern  fighting  men  dis 
couraged. 

Again  an  epidemic  of  desertions  broke  out  and  ten 
thousand  men  were  lost  in  a  single  month. 

Burnside  assumed  the  full  responsibility  for  the 
disaster  and  asked  to  be  relieved  of  his  command. 
The  third  Union  General  had  gone  down  before  Lee — 
McClellan,  Pope  and  Burnside. 

373 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  President,  heartsick  but  undismayed,  called  to 
the  head  of  the  army  the  most  promising  general  in 
sight,  Joseph  Hooker,  popularly  known  as  "Fighting 
Joe  Hooker."  There  was  inspiration  to  the  thought 
less  in  the  name,  yet  the  Chief  had  misgivings. 

On  sending  him  the  appointment  he  wrote  his  new 
general  a  remarkable  letter: 

"GENERAL  : 

"I  have  placed  you  at  the  head  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac.  Of  course,  I  have  done  this  upon  what  ap 
pears  to  me  to  be  sufficient  reasons;  and  yet  I  think  it 
best  for  you  to  know  that  there  are  some  things  in  regard 
to  which  I  am  not  quite  satisfied  with  you. 

"I  believe  you  to  be  a  brave  and  skillful  soldier — which 
of  course  I  like.  I  also  believe  you  do  not  mix  politics 
with  your  profession — in  which  you  are  right.  You  have 
confidence  in  yourself — which  is  a  valuable  if  not  indis 
pensable  quality.  You  are  ambitious — which  within  rea 
sonable  bounds  does  good  rather  than  harm;  but  I  think 
that  during  General  Burnside's  command  of  the  army  you 
have  taken  counsel  of  your  ambition  and  thwarted  him  as 
much  as  you  could,  in  which  you  did  a  great  wrong  to  the 
country,  and  to  a  most  meritorious  and  honorable  brother 
officer. 

"I  have  heard  in  such  a  way  as  to  believe  of  you  re 
cently  saying  that  both  the  army  and  the  Government 
needed  a  dictator.  Of  course  it  was  not  for  this,  but  in 
spite  of  it,  that  I  gave  you  the  command.  Only  those 
generals  who  gain  successes  can  set  up  as  dictators. 

"What  I  now  ask  of  you  is  military  success,  and  I  will 
risk  the  dictatorship. 

"The  Government  will  support  you  to  the  utmost  of  its 
ability — which  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  it  has  done 
and  will  do  for  all  commanders.  I  much  fear  that  the 

374 


THE   REST   HOUR 


spirit  which  you  have  aided  to  infuse  into  the  army  of 
criticising  their  commander  and  withholding  confidence 
from  him,  will  now  turn  upon  you.  I  shall  assist  you  as 
far  as  I  can  to  put  it  down.  Neither  you  nor  Napoleon, 
if  he  were  alive  again,  could  get  any  good  out  of  an  army 
while  such  a  spirit  prevails  in  it. 

"And  now  beware  of  rashness — but  with  energy  and 
sleepless  vigilance  go  forward  and  give  us  victories." 

While  Hooker  lay  in  winter  quarters  reorganizing 
his  army  his  picket  lines  in  speaking  distance  with 
those  of  his  opponent  across  the  river,  the  President 
bent  his  strong  shoulders  to  the  task  of  cheering  the 
fainting  spirits  of  the  people.  On  his  shaggy  head 
was  heaped  the  blame  of  all  the  sorrows,  the  failures 
and  the  agony  of  the  ever  deepening  tragedy  of  war. 
Deeper  and  deeper  into  his  rugged  kindly  face  were 
cut  the  lines  of  life  and  death,  and  darker  grew  the 
shadows  through  which  his  sensitive  lonely  soul  was 
called  to  walk. 

And  yet,  through  it  all,  there  glowed  with  stronger 
radiance  the  charm  of  his  quaint  genius  and  his  mag 
netic  personality — tragic,  homely,  gentle,  humorous, 
honest,  merciful,  wise,  laughable  and  lovable.  « 

He  found  time  to  run  down  to  Hampton  Roads  with 
Gideon  Welles,  his  loyal  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  to 
inspect  the  ships  assembled  there.  He  saw  a  narrow 
door  bound  with  iron. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Oh,  that  is  the  sweat  box,"  the  Secretary  replied, 
"used  for  insubordinate  seamen " 

"Oh,"  the  rugged  giant  exclaimed,  "how  do  you 
work  it?" 

"The  man  to  be  punished  is  put  inside  and  steam 
375 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


heat  is  turned  on.     It  brings  him  to  terms  quickly." 

The  tall  figure  bent  curiously  examining  the  con 
trivance  : 

"And  we  apply  this  to  thousands  of  brave  American 
seamen  every  year?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Let  me  try  it  and  see  what  it's  like." 

It  was  useless  to  protest.  He  had  already  taken 
off  his  tall  silk  hat  and  there  was  a  look  of  quiet 
determination  in  his  hazel-grey  eyes. 

He  stepped  quickly  into  the  enclosure,  which  he 
found  to  be  about  three  feet  in  length  and  about  the 
same  in  width.  His  tall  figure  of  six  feet  four  was 
practically  telescoped. 

"Close  your  door  now  and  turn  on  the  steam,"  he 
ordered.  "I'll  give  you  the  signal  when  I've  had 
enough." 

The  door  was  closed  and  the  steam  turned  on. 

He  stood  it  three  minutes  and  gave  the  signal  of 
release. 

He  stepped  out,  stretched  his  long  legs,  and  breathed 
deeply.  He  mopped  his  brow  and  there  was  fire  in 
his  sombre  eyes  as  he  turned  to  Welles: 

"Mr.   Secretary,  I  want  every  one  of  those  things 
*  dumped   into    the   sea.      Never   again   allow   it   to   be 
found  on  a  vessel  flying  the  American  flag!" 

In  an  hour  every  sailor  in  the  harbor  had  heard 
the  news.  The  old  salts  who  had  felt  its  shame  and 
agony  lifted  their  caps  and  stood  with  bared  heads, 
cheering  and  crying  as  he  passed. 

One  by   one,   every   country   of  Europe  heard   the 
"  news  and  the  sweat  box  ceased  to  be  an  instrument 
of  discipline  on  every  sea  of  the  civilized  world. 

376 


THE   REST   HOUR 


Seated  at  his  desk  in  the  White  House,  he  received 
daily  the  great  and  the  humble,  and  no  man  or  woman 
came  and  left  without  a  patient  hearing.  There  were 
over  thirty  thousand  cases  of  trial  and  condemnations 
by  court-martial  every  year  now — only  a  small  portion 
with  the  death  penalty  attached — but  all  had  the  right 
to  appeal.  They  were  not  slow  in  finding  the  road  to 
the  loving  heart. 

Stanton,  worn  out  by  vain  protests  against  his 
pardons,  sent  Attorney  General  Bates  at  last. 

The  great  lawyer  was  very  stern  as  he  faced  his 
Chief: 

"I  regret  to  say  it,  Mr.  President,  but  you  are  not 
fit  to  be  trusted  with  the  pardoning  power,  sir !" 

A  smile  played  about  the  corner  of  the  big  kindly 
mouth  as  he  glanced  over  his  spectacles  at  his  Attorney 
General : 

"It's  my  private  opinion,  Bates,  that  you're  just  as 
pigeon-hearted  as  I  am!" 

Judge  Advocate  General  Holt  was  sent  to  labor  with 
him  and  insist  that  he  enforce  the  law  imposing  the 
death  penalty. 

"Your  reasons  are  good,  Holt,"  he  answered  kindly, 
"but  I  can't  promise  to  do  it.  You  see,  so  many  of 
my  boys  have  to  be  shot  anyhow,  I  don't  want  to  add 
another  one  to  that  lot  if  I  can  help  it " 

He  paused  and  went  on  whimsically: 

"I  don't  see  how  it's  going  to  make  a  man  better  to 
shoot  him,  anyhow — give  them  another  trial." 

In  spite  of  all  Holt's  protests  he  steadfastly  re 
fused  to  sanction  any  death  warrant  against  a  man 
for  cowardice  under  fire.  "Many  a  man,"  he  calmly 
argued,  "who  honestly  tries  to  do  his  duty  is  over- 

377 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


come  by  fear  greater  than  his  will — I'm  not  at  all 
sure  how  I'd  act  if  Minie  balls  were  whistling  and 
those  big  shells  shrieking  in  my  ears.  How  can  a  poor 
man  help  it  if  his  legs  just  carry  him  away?" 

All  these  he  marked  "leg  cases,"  put  them  in  a 
separate  pigeon  hole  and  always  suspended  their 
sentence. 

He  would  smile  gently  as  he  filed  each  death  war 
rant  away: 

"It  would  frighten  that  poor  devil  too  terribly  to 
shoot  him.  They  shan't  do  it." 

On  one  he  wrote: 

"Let  him  fight  again — maybe  the  enemy  will  shoot 
him — I  won't." 

Betty  Winter  came  with  two  cases.  The  first  was 
a  mother  to  plead  for  her  boy  sentenced  to  die  for 
sleeping  at  his  post  on  guard. 

"You  see,  sir,"  the  mother  pleaded,  "he'd  been  on 
watch  once  that  night  and  had  done  his  duty  faith 
fully.  He  volunteered  to  take  a  sick  comrade's  place. 
He  was  so  tired  he  fell  asleep.  He  was  always  a  big- 
hearted,  generous  boy — you  won't  let  them  shoot  him?" 

"No,  I  won't,"  was  the  quick  response. 

The  mother  laughed  aloud  through  her  tears  and 
threw  her  arms  around  Betty's  neck. 

The  President  bent  over  the  paper  and  wrote  across 
its  back: 

"Pardoned.     This  life  is  too  precious  to  be  lost." 

Betty  waited  until  the  crowd  had  passed  out  and 
he  was  alone  with  Colonel  Nicolay.  She  hurried  to 
his  desk  with  her  second  case  which  she  had  kept  out 
side  in  the  corridor  until  the  time  to  enter. 

A  young  mother  walked  timidly  in,  smiling  apolo- 
378 


THE   REST   HOUR 


getically.  She  carried  a  three-months-old  baby  in  her 
arms.  She  was  evidently  not  in  mourning,  though  her 
eyes  were  red  from  weeping. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  the  President  laughed, 
nodding  to  Betty. 

"Tell  him,"   she  whispered. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  the  woman  began  timidly,  "we 
ain't  been  married  but  a  little  over  a  year.  My  husband 
has  never  seen  the  baby.  He's  in  the  army.  I  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer,  so  I  come  down  to  Washington  to 
get  a  pass  to  take  the  baby  to  him.  But  they  wouldn't 
let  me  have  it.  I've  been  wandering  'round  the  streets 
all  day  crying  till  I  met  this  sweet  young  lady  and 
she  brought  me  to  you,  sir " 

The  President  turned  to  his   secretary: 

"Let's  send  her  down !" 

The  Colonel  smiled  and  shook  his  head: 

"The  strictest  orders  have  been  given  to  allow  no 
more  women  to  go  to  the  front " 

The  big  gentle  hand  stroked  the  shaggy  beard. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  we  can  do,"  he  cried  joy 
fully,  "give  her  husband  a  leave  of  absence  and  let 
him  come  to  see  them  here !" 

The  secretary  left  at  once  for  the  Adjutant  Gen 
eral's  office  and  the  President  turned  to  the  laughing 
young  mother,  who  was  trying  to  thank  Betty  through 
her  tears: 

"And  where  are  you  stopping,  Madam?" 

"Nowhere  yet,  sir.  I  went  straight  from  the  depot 
to  the  War  Department  and  then  walked  about  blind 
with  crying  eyes  until  I  came  here." 

"All  right  then,  we'll  fix  that.  I'll  give  Miss  Betty 
an  order  to  take  you  and  your  baby  to  her  hospital 

379 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


and  care  for  you  until  your  husband  comes  and  he 
can  stay  there  a  week  with  you " 

The  mother's  voice  wouldn't  work.  She  tried  to 
speak  her  thanks  and  could  only  laugh. 

The  big  hand  pressed  Betty's  as  she  left : 

"Thank  you  for  bringing  her,  little  girl,  things  like 
that  rest  me." 

The  hour  was  swiftly  coming  when  he  was  going 
to  need  all  the  strength  that  rest  could  bring  body 
and  soul.  His  enemies  were  sleepless.  The  press  in 
spired  by  Senator  Winter  had  begun  to  strike  below 
the  belt. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

DEEPENING    SHADOWS 

Again  the  eyes  of  the  Nation  were  fixed  on  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  and  its  new  General.  The  President 
went  down  to  his  headquarters  at  Falmouth  Heights 
opposite  Fredericksburg  to  review  his  army  of  a  hun 
dred  and  thirty  thousand  men. 

Riding  up  to  Hooker's  headquarters  through  the 
beautiful  spring  morning  his  weary  figure  was  lifted 
with  new  hope  as  he  breathed  the  perfume  of  the  flowers 
and  blooming  hedgerows. 

The  driver  only  worried  him  for  the  moment.  He 
was  swearing  eloquently  at  his  team  in  the  pride  of 
his  heart  at  the  honor  of  hauling  the  Chief  Magistrate 
of  the  Nation.  He  swore  both  plain  and  ornamental 
oaths  with  equal  unction. 

The  President  endured  it  a  while  in  amused  silence. 
He  was  deeply  annoyed,  but  too  much  of  a  gentleman 
to  hurt  his  patriotic  driver's  feelings. 

At  last  he  observed: 

"I  see  you  are  an  Episcopalian,  driver." 

The  man  turned  in  surprise: 

"Oh,  no,  sir,  I'm  Methodist." 

"Is  it  possible?" 

"Yes,  sir,  Methodist — why,  sir?" 

A  whimsical  smile  played  about  the  big  kindly 
mouth  : 

381 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"I  thought  you  must  be  an  Episcopalian  because 
you  swear  exactly  like  Mr.  Seward,  and  he's  a  church 
warden  !" 

A  deep  silence  fell  on  the  sweet  spring  air.  The 
driver  glanced  over  his  shoulder  with  a  sheepish  grin, 
and  cracked  his  whip  without  an  oath: 

"G'long  there,  boys!" 

As  the  serried  lines  of  blue,  with  bayonets  flashing 
in  the  warming  sun  of  April,  marched  past  the  tall 
giant  on  horseback,  they  were  in  fine  spirits.  They 
cheered  the  President  with  rousing  enthusiasm. 

John  Vaughan  did  not  join.  He  marched  past  with 
eyes  straight  in  front. 

The  President  hurried  back  to  Washington  to  keep 
his  vigil  from  his  window  overlooking  the  Potomac, 
and  Hooker  began  the  execution  of  his  skillful  plan 
of  attack.  On  the  day  his  advance  began  he  had 
one  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  men  and  four  hun 
dred  and  forty-eight  great  guns  in  seven  grand  di 
visions.  Lee,  still  lying  on  the  crescent  hills  behind 
Fredericksburg,  had  sixty-two  thousand  men  and  one 
hundred  and  seventy  guns.  He  had  detached  Long- 
street's  corps  for  service  in  Tennessee. 

The  Federal  Commander  was  absolutely  sure  that 
he  could  throw  the  flower  of  this  magnificent  army 
across  the  river  seven  miles  above  Fredericksburg,  get 
into  Lee's  rear,  hurl  the  remainder  of  his  forces  across 
the  river  as  Burnside  had  done,  and  crush  the  grey 
army  like  an  egg  shell.  It  was  well  planned,  but  in 
war  the  unexpected  often  happens. 

Again  the  unexpected  thing  turned  up  in  the  shape 
of  the  strange,  dusty  figure  on  his  little  sorrel  horse. 

The  night  before  Hooker  moved,  Julius  met  with  an 
382 


DEEPENING  SHADOWS 

accident  which  delayed  John's  supper.  He  was  just 
approaching  the  camp  after  a  successful  stroll  over 
the  surrounding  territory,  carrying  on  his  back  a  sheep 
he  meant  to  cook  for  the  coming  march.  A  rude  and 
unsympathetic  guard  arrested  him.  Julius  was  greatly 
grieved  at  his  unkind  remarks. 

"Lordy,  man,  you  ought  not  ter  say  things  lak 
dat  ter  me!  I  nebber  steal  nutting  in  my  life.  I 
wasn't  even  foragin'  dis  time " 

"The  hell  you  weren't !" 

"Na,  sah.  I  wasn't  even  foragin'.  I  know  dat  de 
General  done  issue  dem  orders  agin  hit,  an'  I  quit  long 

"This  sheep  looks  like  it " 

"Dat  sheep?" 

"That's  what  I  said,  you  black  thief!" 

"Say,  man,  don't  talk  lak  dat  ter  me — you  sho 
hurts  my  feelin's.  I  nebber  stole  dat  sheep.  I  nebber 
go  atter  de  sheep,  an'  I  weren't  studyin'  'bout  no  ani 
mals.  I  was  des  walkin'  long  de  road  past  a  man's 
house  whar  dis  here  big,  devilish-lookin'  old  sheep 
come  er  runnin'  right  at  me  wid  his  head  down — an' 
I  lammed  him  wid  er  stick  ter  save  my  life,  sah.  An' 
den  when  he  fell,  I  knowed  hit  wuz  er  pity  ter  leave 
him  dar  ter  spile,  an'  so  I  des  nachelly  had  ter  fetch 
him  inter  de  camp  ter  save  him.  Man,  you  sho  is  rude 
ter  talk  dat  way." 

The  guard  was  obdurate  until  Julius  began  to  de 
scribe  how  he  cooked  roast  mutton.  He  finally  agreed 
to  accept  his  version  of  the  battle  with  the  sheep  as 
authentic  if  he  would  bring  him  a  ten  pound  roast 
to  test  the  truth  of  his  conversation. 

Julius  was  still  harping  on  the  rudeness  of  this 
383 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


guard  as  he  fanned  the  flies  off  John's  table  with  a 
sassafras  brush  at  supper. 

"I  don't  know  what  dey  ebber  let  sech  poor  white 
trash  ez  dat  man  git  in  er  army  for,  anyhow!"  he 
exclaimed  indignantly. 

"We  have  to  take  'em  as  they  come  now,  Julius. 
There's  going  to  be  a  draft  this  summer.  No  more 
volunteers  now.  Wait  till  you  see  the  conscripts." 

"Dey  can't  be  no  wus  dan  dat  man.  He  warn't 
no  gemman  'tall,  sah." 

John  rose  from  his  hearty  supper  and  strolled  along 
the  line  of  his  regiment,  recruited  again  to  its  full 
strength  of  twelve  hundred  men. 

Two  fellows  who  were  messmates  were  scrapping 
about  a  question  of  gravy.  One  wanted  lots  of  gravy 
and  his  meat  done  brown.  The  other  insisted  on 
having  his  meat  decently  cooked,  but  not  swimming 
in  grease.  The  man  in  favor  of  gravy  was  on  duty 
as  cook  at  this  meal  and  stuck  to  his  own  ideas.  They 
suddenly  clinched,  fell  to  the  ground,  rolled  over, 
knocked  the  pan  in  the  fire  and  lost  both  meat  and 
gravy. 

John  smiled  and  passed  on. 

A  lieutenant  was  sitting  on  a  stump  holding  a  letter 
from  his  sweetheart  to  the  flickering  camp  fire.  He 
bent  and  kissed  the  signature — the  fool !  For  a  mo 
ment  the  old  longing  surged  back  through  his  soul. 
He  wondered  if  she  ever  thought  of  him  now.  She 
had  loved  him  once. 

He  started  back  to  his  tent  to  write  her  a  letter 
before  they  broke  camp  to-morrow  morning.  Nature 
was  calling  in  the  balmy  spring  night  wind  that  floated 
over  the  waters  of  the  river. 

384 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

Nature  knew  naught  of  war.  She  was  pouring  out 
her  heart  in  budding  leaf  and  blossom  in  the  joy  of 
living. 

And  then  the  bitterness  of  shame  and  stubborn  pride 
welled  up  to  kill  the  tender  impulse.  There  were 
slumbering  forces  beneath  the  skin  the  scenes  through 
which  he  was  passing  had  called  into  new  life.  They 
were  bringing  new  powers  both  of  mind  and  body. 
They  added  nothing  to  the  gentler,  sweeter  sources 
of  character.  He  began  to  understand  how  men  could 
feed  their  ambitions  on  the  bodies  of  fallen  hosts  and 
still  smile. 

He  had  felt  the  brutalizing  touch  of  war.  With  a 
cynical  laugh  he  threw  off  his  impulse  to  write  and 
turned  into  his  blanket  dreaming  of  the  red  carnival 
toward  which  they  would  march  at  dawn. 

As  the  sun  rose  over  the  new  sparkling  fields  of  the 
South  on  the  morning  of  the  27th  of  April,  1863,  the 
great  movement  began. 

The  Federal  commander  ordered  Sedgwick's  division 
to  cross  the  Rappahannock  below  Fredericksburg  and 
deploy  in  line  of  battle  to  deceive  Lee  as  to  his  real 
purpose  while  he  secretly  marched  his  main  army 
through  the  woods  seven  miles  above  to  throw  them 
on  his  rear. 

As  the  men  stood,  thousands  banked  on  thousands, 
awaiting  the  order  to  march,  John  Vaughan  saw,  for 
the  first  time,  the  grim  procession  pass  along  the  lines 
carrying  a  condemned  deserter,  to  be  shot  to  death 
before  his  former  comrades.  His  hands  were  tied 
across  his  breast  with  rough  knotted  rope  and  he  was 
seated  on  his  coffin. 

The  War  Department  had  gotten  around  the  tender 
385 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


heart  in  the  White  House  at  last.  The  desertions  had 
•  become  so  terrible  in  their  frequency  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  make  examples  of  some  of  these  men. 
The  poor  devil  who  sat  forlornly  on  his  grim  throne 
riding  through  the  sweet  spring  morning  had  no  mother 
or  sister  or  sweetheart  to  plead  his  cause. 

The  men  stared  in  silence  as  the  death  cart  rumbled 
along  the  lines.  It  halted  and  the  man  took  his  place 
before  the  firing  squad  but  a  few  feet  away. 

A  white  cloth  was  bound  over  his  eyes.  The  sergeant 
dealt  out  the  specially  prepared  round  of  cartridges — 
all  blank  save  one,  that  no  soldier  might  know  who 
did  the  murder. 

In  low  tones  they  were  ordered  to  fire  straight  at 
the  heart  of  the  blindfolded  figure.  The  muskets 
flashed  and  the  man  crumpled  in  a  heap  on  the  soft 
young  grass,  the  blood  pouring  from  his  breast  in  a 
bright  red  pool  beside  the  quivering  form. 

And  then  the  army  moved. 

The  stratagem  of  the  Commander  was  executed  with 
skill.  But  there  was  an  eagle  eye  back  of  those  hills 
of  Fredericksburg.  Lee  was  not  only  a  great  stark 
fighter,  he  was  a  past  master  in  the  arts  of  war.  He 
had  divined  his  opponent's  plan  from  the  moment  of 
his  first  movement. 

By  April  the  30th,  Hooker  had  effected  his  cross 
ing  and  slipped  into  the  rear  of  Lee's  left  wing.  The 
Southerner  had  paid  little  attention  to  Sedgwick's 
menace  on  his  front.  He  left  but  nine  thousand  men 
on  Marye's  Heights  to  hold  in  check  this  forty  thou 
sand,  and  by  a  rapid  night  march  suddenly  confronted 
Hooker  in  the  Wilderness  before  Chancellorsville. 

So  strong  was  the  Union  General's  position  he  is- 
386 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

sued  an  exultant  order  to  his  army  in  which  he  de 
clared  : 

"The  enemy  must  now  flee  shamefully  or  come  out 
of  his  defences  to  accept  battle  on  our  own  ground, 
to  his  certain  destruction." 

The  enemy  had  already  slipped  out  of  his  defenses 
before  Fredericksburg  and  at  that  moment  was  feel 
ing  his  way  through  the  tangled  vines  and  under 
growth  with  sure  ominous  tread. 

The  soul  of  the  Confederate  leader  rose  with  elation 
at  the  prospect  before  him.  In  this  tangle  called  the 
Wilderness,  broken  only  here  and  there  by  small,  scat 
tered  farm  houses  and  fields,  the  Grand  Army  of  the 
Republic  had  more  than  twice  his  numbers,  and  nearly 
three  times  as  many  big  guns,  but  his  artillery  would 
be  practically  useless.  It  was  utterly  impossible  to 
use  four  hundred  great  guns  in  such  woods.  Lee's 
one  hundred  and  seventy  were  more  than  he  could 
handle.  It  would  be  a  fight  between  infantry  at  close 
range.  The  Southerner  knew  that  no  army  of  men 
ever  walked  the  earth  who  would  be  the  equal,  man  for 
man,  with  these  grey  veteran  dead  shots,  who  were  now 
silently  creeping  through  the  undergrowth  of  their 
native  woods. 

On  May  the  1st,  their  two  lines  came  into  touch  and 
Lee  felt  of  his  opponent  by  driving  in  his  skirmishers 
in  a  desultory  fire  of  artillery. 

On  the  morning  of  May  the  2nd,  the  two  armies 
faced  each  other  at  close  range. 

With  Sedgwick's  division  of  forty  thousand  men 
now  threatening  Lee's  rear  from  Fredericksburg,  his 
army  thus  caught  between  two  mighty  lines  of  blue, 
Hooker  was  absolutely  sure  of  victory.  The  one  thing 

387 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


of  which  he  never  dreamed  was  that  Lee  would  dare, 
in  the  face  of  such  a  death  trap,  to  divide  his  own 
small  army.  And  yet  this  is  exactly  what  the  South 
erner  decided  to  do  contrary  to  all  the  rules  of  mili 
tary  science  or  the  advice  of  the  strange,  silent  figure 
on  the  little  sorrel  horse. 

When  Lee,  Jackson  and  Stuart  rode  along  the  lines 
of  Hooker's  front  that  fatal  May  morning,  Jackson 
suddenly  reined  in  his  little  sorrel  and  turned  his  keen 
blue  eyes  on  his  grey-haired  Chief: 

"There's  just  one  way,  General  Lee.  The  front  and 
left  are  too  strong.  I  can  swing  my  corps  in  a  quick 
movement  to  the  rear  while  you  attack  the  front.  They 
will  think  it  a  retreat.  Out  of  sight,  I'll  turn,  march 
for  ten  miles  around  their  right  wing,  and  smash  it 
from  the  rear  before  sundown." 

Lee  quickly  approved  the  amazing  plan  of  his  lieu 
tenant,  though  it  involved  the  necessity  of  his  holding 
Hooker's  centre  and  left  in  check  and  that  his  nine 
thousand  men  behind  the  stone  wall  on  Marye's  Heights 
should  hold  Sedgwick's  forty  thousand.  He  believed 
it  could  be  done  until  Jackson  had  completed  his  march. 

He  immediately  ordered  his  attack  on  the  centre 
and  left  of  his  enemy.  The  artillery  horses  were  crop 
ping  the  tender  dew-laden  grass  with  eagerness.  They 
had  had  no  breakfast.  The  riders  sprang  to  their 
backs  at  seven  o'clock  and  they  dashed  into  position. 

Lee's  guns  opened  the  fateful  day.  For  hours  his 
lines  blazed  with  the  steady  sullen  boom  of  artillery 
and  rattle  of  musketry.  Hooker's  hosts  replied  in 
kind. 

At  noon  a  shout  swept  the  Federal  lines  that  Lee's 
army  was  in  retreat.  Sickles'  division  could  see  the 

388 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

long  grey  waves  hurrying  to  the  rear.  They  were 
close  enough  to  note  the  ragged,  dirty,  nondescript 
clothes  Jackson's  men  wore.  No  man  in  all  the  Union 
hosts  doubted  for  a  moment  that  Lee  had  seen  the 
hopelessness  of  his  position  and  was  hurrying  to  save 
his  little  army  of  sixty-two  thousand  men  from  being 
crushed  into  pulp  by  the  jaws  of  a  hundred  and  thirty 
thousand  in  two  grand  divisions  closing  in  on  him.  It 
was  a  reasonable  supposition — always  barring  the 
utterly  unexpected — another  name  for  Stonewall  Jack 
son,  whom  they  seemed  to  have  forgotten  for  the 
moment. 

Sickles,  seeing  the  "retreat,"  sent  a  courier  flying  to 
Hooker,  asking  for  permission  to  follow  the  fugitives 
with  his  twenty  thousand  men.  Hooker  consented,  and 
Sickles  leaped  from  his  entrenchments  and  set  out  in 
mad  haste  to  overtake  the  flying  columns.  He  got 
nearly  ten  miles  in  the  woods  away  from  the  battle 
lines  before  he  realized  that  the  ghostly  men  in  grey 
had  made  good  their  escape.  Certainly  they  had  dis 
appeared  from  view. 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  Jackson's 
swift,  silent  marchers  began  to  draw  near  to  the  un 
suspecting  right  wing  of  Hooker's  army  under  the 
command  of  General  Howard. 

Ned  Vaughan  was  in  Jackson's  skirmish  line  feeling 
the  way  through  the  tender  green  foliage  of  the  spring. 
The  days  were  warm  and  the  leaves  far  advanced — 
the  woods  so  dense  it  was  impossible  for  picket  or 
skirmisher  to  see  more  than  a  hundred  yards  ahead — 
at  some  points  not  a  hundred  feet. 

The  thin,  silent  line  suddenly  swept  into  the 
little  opening  of  a  negro  cabin  with  garden  and  patch 

389 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


of  corn.     A  kindly  old  colored  woman  was  standing 
in  the  doorway. 

She  looked  into  the  faces  of  these  eager,  slender 
Southern  boys  and  they  were  her  "children."  The 
meaning  of  war  was  real  to  her  only  when  it  meant 
danger  to  those  she  loved. 

She  ran  quickly  up  to  Ned,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
excitement : 

"For  de  Lawd's  sake,  honey,  don't  you  boys  go 
up  dat  road  no  f udder!" 

"Why,  Mammy?"  he  asked  with  a  smile. 

"Lordy,  chile,  dey's  thousan's,  an'  thousan's  er 
Yankees  des  over  dat  little  hill  dar — dey'll  kill  every 
one  er  you  all!" 

"I  reckon  not,  Mammy,"  Ned  called,  hurrying  on. 

She  ran  after  him,  still  crying: 

"For  Gawd's  sake,  come  back  here,  honey — dey  kill 
ye  sho !" 

She  was  calling  still  as  Ned  disappeared  beyond  the 
cabin  into  the  woods  redolent  now  with  the  blossoms 
of  chinquepin  bushes  and  the  rich  odors  of  sweet 
shrub. 

They  climbed  the  little  ridge  on  whose  further  slope 
lay  an  open  field,  and  caught  their  first  view  of 
Howard's  unsuspecting  division.  They  halted  and 
sent  their  couriers  flying  with  the  news  to  Jackson. 

Ned  looked  on  the  scene  with  a  thrill  of  exulta 
tion  and  then  a  sense  of  deepening  pity.  The  boys 
in  blue  had  begun  to  bivouac  for  the  night,  their  camp 
fires  curling  through  the  young  green  leaves.  The 
men  were  seated  in  groups  laughing,  talking,  joking 
and  playing  cards.  The  horses  were  busy  cropping 
the  young  grass. 

390 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

"God  have  mercy  on  them !"  Ned  exclaimed. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  before  Jackson's  men  had 
all  slipped  silently  into  position  behind  the  dense  woods 
on  this  little  slope — in  two  long  grim  battle  lines,  one 
behind  the  other,  with  columns  in  support,  his  horse 
artillery  with  their  big  guns  shotted  and  ready. 

Ned  saw  a  slight  stir  in  the  doomed  camp  of  blue. 
The  men  were  standing  up  now  and  looking  curiously 
toward  those  dense  woods.  A  startled  flock  of  quail 
had  swept  over  their  heads  flying  straight  down  from 
the  hill  crest.  A  rabbit  came  scurrying  from  the  same 
direction — and  then  another.  And  then  another  flock 
of  quail  swirled  past  and  pitched  among  the  camp 
fires,  running  and  darting  in  terror  on  the  ground. 

An  officer  drew  his  revolver  and  potted  one  for  his 
supper. 

The  men  glanced  uneasily  toward  the  woods  but 
could  see  nothing. 

"What' ell  ye  reckon  that  means?" 

"What   ails   the   poor   birds?" 

"And  the  rabbits?" 

They  were  not  long  in  doubt.  The  sudden  shrill 
note  of  a  bugle  rang  from  the  woods  and  Jackson's 
yelling  grey  lines  of  death  swept  down  on  their  un 
protected  rear. 

The  first  regiments  in  sight  were  blown  into  atoms 
and  driven  as  chaff  before  a  whirlwind.  Behind  them 
lay  twenty  regiments  in  their  trenches  pointed  the 
wrong  way.  The  men  leaped  to  their  guns  and  fought 
desperately  to  stay  the  rushing  torrent.  Beyond  them 
was  a  ragged  gap  of  a  whole  mile  without  a  man,  left 
bare  by  the  chase  of  Sickles'  division  now  ten  miles 
away.  Without  support  the  shattered  lines  were 

391 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


crushed  and  crumpled  and  rolled  back  in  confusion. 
Every  regiment  was  cut  to  pieces  and  pushed  on  top 
of  one  another,  men,  horses,  mules,  cattle,  guns,  in  a 
tangled  mass  of  blood  and  death. 

Ned  was  sent  to  bring  the  supporting  column  to 
drive  them  on  and  on.  He  mounted  a  horse  and  dashed 
back  to  the  reserve  line  yelling  his  call: 

"Hurry!     Hurry  up,  men!" 

"What's  the  hurry?"  growled  a  grey  coat. 

"Hurry!  Hurry!"  Ned  shouted.  "We've  captured 
fifty  pieces  of  artillery  and  ten  thousand  prisoners !" 

"Then  what' ell's  the  use  er  hurryin'  us  on  er  empty 
stomach — but  we're  a-comin',  honey — we're  a-comin' !" 

The  colonel  of  a  regiment  snatched  his  hat  off  and 
was  getting  his  men  ready  for  the  charge.  He  waved 
his  hand  toward  Ned: 

"Make  that  damn-fool  get  out  of  the  way.  I'm 
going  to  charge.  Now  you  men  listen — listen  to  me, 
I  say !  not  to  that  fellow — listen  to  me !" 

Ned  could  hear  him  still  talking  excitedly  to  his 
eager  men  as  he  dashed  back  to  the  battle  line. 

General  Hooker  sat  on  the  porch  of  the  Chancellor 
House,  his  headquarters.  On  the  east  there  was  heavy 
firing  where  his  men  were  attempting  to  carry  out  his 
orders  to  flank  Lee's  retreating  army.  Sickles'  and 
Pleasanton's  cavalry  were  already  in  pursuit.  By 
some  curious  trick  of  the  breeze  or  atmospheric  con 
ditions  not  a  sound  had  reached  him  from  the  direction 
of  his  right  wing.  A  staff  officer  suddenly  turned  his 
glasses  to  the  west. 

"My  God,  here  they  come!" 

Before  the  astounded  Commander  could  leap  from 
the  porch  to  his  horse  the  flying  stragglers  of  his  shat- 

392 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

tered  right  were  pouring  into  view — men,  wagons, 
ambulances,  in  utter  confusion.  Hooker  swung  his 
old  division  under  General  Berry  into  line  and  shouted 
to  his  veterans: 

"Forward  with  the  bayonet!" 

The  sturdy  division  plowed  its  way  through  the  re 
ceding  blue  waves  of  panic-stricken  men  and  dashed 
into  the  face  of  the  overwhelming  hosts. 

Major  Keenan,  in  command  of  the  8th  Pennsylvania 
Cavalry,  charged  with  his  gallant  five  hundred  into 
the  face  of  almost  certain  death  and  held  the  grey 
lines  in  check  until  the  artillery  of  the  Third  Corps 
was  saved  and  turned  on  the  advancing  Confederates. 
He  fell  at  the  head  of  his  men. 

The  fighting  now  became  a  battle.  It  was  no  longer 
a  rout. 

Ned  saw  a  lone  deaf  man  in  blue  standing  bare 
headed,  fighting  a  whole  army  so  intent  on  his  work 
he  hadn't  noticed  that  his  regiment  had  retreated  and 
left  him. 

Two  men  in  grey  raised  their  muskets  and  fired 
point  blank  at  this  man  at  the  same  instant.  The 
unconscious  hero  fell. 

"I  hit  him !"  cried  one. 

"No,  I  hit  him !"  said  the  other. 

And  they  both  rushed  up  and  tenderly  offered  him 
help. 

A  grey  soldier  came  hurrying  by  taking  two 
prisoners  to  the  rear.  A  cannon  ball  from  the  rescued 
battery  cut  off  his  leg  and  he  dropped  beside  Ned 
shouting  hysterically: 

"Pick  me  up!  Pick  me  up!  Why  don't  you  pick 
me  up?" 

393 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  blue  prisoner  looked  back  in  terror  at  the 
battery  and  started  to  run.  A  grey  soldier  stopped 
them: 

"Here!  Here!  What'ell's  the  matter  with  you? 
Them's  your  own  guns.  What  are  ye  tryin'  to  get 
away  from  'em  for?" 

Men  were  falling  now  at  every  step. 

Ned  had  advanced  a  hundred  yards  further  when 
the  boy  on  his  right  suddenly  threw  his  hands  over 
his  head  and  his  leg  fell  to  the  ground,  cut  off  by  a 
cannon  ball.  Ned  leaped  to  his  side  and  caught  him 
in  his  arms.  A  look  of  anguish  swept  his  strong  young 
face  as  he  gasped: 

"My  poor  old  mother!  O  my  God,  what'll  she  do 
now?" 

Ned  tied  his  handkerchief  around  the  mangled  leg, 
twisted  the  knot,  and  stayed  the  blood  gushing  from 
the  severed  arteries,  and  rushed  back  to  his  desperate 
work. 

Four  horses  dashed  by  his  side  dragging  through 
the  woods  a  big  gun  to  train  on  the  battery  that  was 
plowing  through  their  lines.  A  solid  shot  crashed 
straight  through  a  horse's  head,  blinding  Ned  with 
blood  and  brains. 

He  threw  his  hand  to  his  face  and  buried  it  in  the 
hot  quivering  mass,  exclaiming: 

"My  God,  boys,  my  brains  are  out!" 

"You've  got  the  biggest  set  I  ever  saw  then!"  the 
Captain  said,  helping  him  to  clear  his  eyes. 

A  shell  exploded  squarely  against  the  gtm  carriage, 
hurling  it  into  junk  and  piling  all  four  horses  on 
the  ground.  Their  dying  cries  rang  pitifully  through 
the  smoke-wreathed  woods.  One  horse  lifted  his  head, 

394 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

placed  both  fore  feet  on  the  ground  and  tried  to  rise. 
His  hind  legs  were  only  shreds  of  torn  flesh.  He 
neighed  a  long,  quivering,  soul-piercing  shriek  of  agony 
and  a  merciful  officer  drew  his  revolver  and  killed  him. 

A  cannoneer  lay  by  this  horse's  side  with  both  his 
legs  hopelessly  crushed  so  high  in  the  thick  flesh  of 
the  thighs  there  was  no  hope.  He  was  moaning  hor 
ribly.  He  turned  his  eyes  in  agony  to  the  officer  who 
had  shot  the  horse: 

"Please,  Captain — for  the  love  of  God — shoot  me3 
too,  I  can't  live " 

The  Captain  shook  his  head. 

"Have  mercy  on  me — for  Jesus'  sake — kill  me — 
you  were  kind  to  my  horse — can't  you  do  as  much 
for  me?" 

The  Captain  turned  away  in  anguish.  He  couldn't 
even  send  for  morphine.  The  South  had  no  more 
morphine.  The  blockade's  iron  hand  was  on  her  hos 
pitals  now. 

Ned  fought  for  half  an  hour  behind  a  tree.  Twice 
the  bullets  striking  the  bark  knocked  pieces  into  his 
eyes.  He  was  sure  at  least  fifty  Minie  balls  struck  it. 

A  bald-headed  Colonel  rushed  by  at  double  quick 
leading  a  fresh  regiment  into  action  to  support  them. 
The  hell  of  battle  was  not  so  hot  the  Southern  soldier 
had  lost  his  sense  of  humor.  They  were  glad  to  see 
this  dashing  old  fighter  and  they  told  him  so  in  no 
uncertain  way. 

"Hurrah  for  Baldy!" 

"Sick    'em,    Baldy — sick    'em " 

"I'll  bet  on  old  man  Baldy  every  time " 

"Hurrah  for  the  bald-headed  man !" 

The  Colonel  paid  no  attention  to  their  shouts.  The 
395 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


flash  of  his  muskets  in  the  deepening  twilight  turned 
the  tide  in  their  favor.  The  big  guns  had  been  unlim- 
bered  and  pulled  back  deeper  into  the  blue  lines. 

John  Vaughan's  line  was  swung  to  support  the 
charge  of  Hooker's  old  division  which  first  halted  the 
rush  of  Jackson's  men.  In  the  field  beyond  the  Chan 
cellor  House  stood  a  huge  straw  stack.  As  the  regi 
ment  rushed  by  at  double  quick  the  Colonel  spied  a 
panic-stricken  officer  crouching  in  terror  behind  the 
pile. 

The  Colonel  slapped  him  across  the  shoulders  with 
his  sword : 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  this  for  you,  sir?" 

Through  chattering  teeth  came  the  trembling  re 
sponse  : 

"W-w-hy,  m-my  God,  do  you  think  the  bullets  can 
come  through?" 

The  Colonel  threw  up  his  hands  in  rage  and  pressed 
on  with  his  men. 

A  wagon  loaded  with*  entrenching  tools,  on  which 
sat  half  a  dozen  negroes  rattled  by  on  its  way  to  the 
rear.  A  solid  shot  plumped  squarely  into  the  load. 

John  saw  picks,  spades,  shovels  and  negroes  sud 
denly  fill  the  air.  Every  negro  lit  on  his  feet  and 
his  legs  were  running  when  he  struck  the  ground. 
They  reached  the  tall  timber  before  the  last  pick 
fell. 

The  regiments  were  going  into  battle  double  quick, 
but  they  were  not  going  so  fast  they  couldn't  laugh. 

"Hurry  up  men!"  the  Colonel  called.  "Hurry  up, 
let's  get  in  there  and  help  'em!" 

A  moment  more  and  they  were  in  it. 

The  man  beside  John  threw  up  both  hands  and 
396 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

dropped  with  the  dull,  unmistakable  thud  of  death— 
the  soldier  who  has  been  in  battle  knows  the  sickening 
sound. 

They  were  thrown  around  the  Third  Corps  battery 
to  protect  their  guns  which  had  been  dragged  to  a 
place  more  securely  within  the  lines.  Still  their  gun 
ners  kept  falling  one  by  one — falling  ominously  at 
the  crack  of  a  single  gun  in  the  woods.  A  Confederate 
sharpshooter  had  climbed  a  tree  and  was  picking  them 
off. 

A  tall  Westerner  spoke  to  the  Colonel: 

"Let  me  go  huntin'  for  him !" 

The  Commander  nodded  and  John  went  with  him — 
why?  He  asked  himself  the  question  before  he  had 
taken  ten  steps  through  the  shadowy  underbrush.  The 
answer  was  plain.  He  knew  the  truth  at  once.  The 
elemental  brutal  instinct  of  the  hunter  had  kindled 
at  the  flash  in  that  Westerner's  eye.  It  would  be  a 
hunt  worth  while — the  game  was  human. 

For  five  minutes  they  crept  through  the  bushes  hid 
ing  from  tree  to  tree  in  the  open  spaces.  They  searched 
the  tops  in  vain,  when  suddenly  a  piece  of  white  oak 
bark  fluttered  down  from  the  sky  and  struck  the 
ground  at  their  feet. 

The  Westerner  smiled  at  John  and  stood  motion 
less: 

"Well,  I'm  damned!" 

They  waited  breathlessly,  afraid  to  look  up  into 
the  boughs  of  the  towering  oak  beneath  which  they 
were  standing. 

"Don't  move  now!"  the  man  from  the  West  cried, 
"and  I'll  pot  him." 

Slowly  he  stepped  backward,  softly,  noiselessly,  his 
397 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


eye  fixed  in  the  treetop,  his  gun  raised  and  finger  on 
the  trigger. 

He  stopped,  aimed,  and  fired. 

John  looked  up  and  saw  the  grey  figure  fall  back 
from  the  tree  trunk  and  plunge  downward,  bound 
ing  from  limb  to  limb  and  striking  the  ground  within 
ten  feet  of  where  he  stood  with  heavy  thud.  The 
blood  was  gushing  in  red  streams  from  his  nose  and 
mouth. 

They  turned  and  hurried  back  to  their  lines — an 
other  fierce  attack  was  being  made  on  those  guns.  The 
men  in  grey  charged  and  drove  them  a  hundred  feet 
before  they  rallied  and  pushed  them  back  with  fright 
ful  loss  on  both  sides. 

John's  Captain  fell,  dangerously  wounded,  and  lay 
fifty  feet  beyond  their  battle  line.  The  dry  leaves 
in  the  woods  had  taken  fire  from  a  shell  and  the  blaze 
was  nearing  the  wounded  men.  The  Westerner  coolly 
leaped  from  his  position  behind  a  tree,  walked  out  in 
a  hail  of  lead,  picked  up  his  wounded  Commander, 
and  carried  him  safely  to  the  rear.  He  had  just 
stepped  back  to  take  his  stand  in  line  by  John's  side 
when  a  flying  piece  of  shrapnel  tore  a  hole  in  his  side. 
He  dropped  to  his  knees,  sank  lower  to  his  elbow, 
turned  his  blue  eyes  to  the  darkening  sky  and  slowly 
muttered  as  if  to  himself: 

«poor — little — wife — and — babies!" 

The  night  was  drawing  her  merciful  veil  over  the 
scene  at  last.  Jackson  having  crushed  and  mangled 
Hooker's  right  wing  and  rolled  it  back  in  red  defeat 
over  five  miles  in  two  hours,  was  slowly  feeling  his 
way  on  his  last  reconnaissance  for  the  day  to  make 
his  plans  for  the  next.  Through  a  fatal  misunder- 

398 


DEEPENING  SHADOWS 

standing  he  was  fired  on  by  his  own  men  and  borne 
from  the  field  fatally  wounded. 

A  shiver  of  horror  thrilled  the  Southerners  when 
when  the  news  of  Jackson's  fall  was  whispered  through 
the  darkness. 

At  midnight  Sickles  led  his  division  back  into  the 
dense  woods  and  for  three  terrible  hours  the  men  on 
both  sides  fought  as  demons  in  the  shadows.  The 
long  lines  of  blazing  muskets  in  the  darkness  looked 
like  the  onward  rush  of  a  forest  fire.  At  times  two 
solid  walls  of  flame  seemed  to  leap  through  the  tree 
tops  into  the  starlit  heavens.  A  small  portion  of  the 
captured  ground  was  recovered  at  a  frightful  loss — 
and  no  man  knows  to  this  day  how  many  gallant  men 
in  blue  were  shot  down  by  their  own  comrades  in  the 
darkness  and  confusion  of  that  mad  assault. 

Hooker  sent  a  desperate  call  to  Sedgwick  to  hurry 
to  his  relief  by  carrying  out  his  plan  of  sweeping 
Marye's  Heights  and  falling  on  Lee's  rear. 

At  dawn  Stuart  in  command  of  Jackson's  corps  led 
the  new  charge  on  Hooker's  lines,  his  grey  veterans 
shouting : 

"Remember  Jackson !" 

Through  the  long  hours  of  the  terrible  third  day  of 
May  the  fierce  combat  of  giants  raged.  During  the 
morning  Hooker's  headquarters  were  reached  by  the 
Confederate  artillery  and  the  old  Chancellor  House, 
filled  with  the  wounded,  was  knocked  to  pieces  and  set 
on  fire.  The  women  and  children  and  slaves  of  the 
Chancellor  family  were  shivering  in  its  cellar  while  the 
shells  were  hurling  its  bricks  and  timbers  in  murder 
ous  fury  on  the  helpless  wounded  who  lay  in  hundreds 
in  the  yard.  The  men  from  both  armies  rushed 

399 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


into  this  hell  and  carried  the  wounded  to  a  place  of 
safety. 

General  Hooker  was  wounded  and  the  report  flew 
over  the  Federal  army  that  he  had  been  killed.  To 
allay  their  fears  the  General  had  himself  lifted  into 
the  saddle  and  rode  down  his  lines  and  out  of  sight, 
when  he  was  taken  unconscious  from  his  horse. 

Sedgwick  was  fighting  his  way  with  desperation  now 
to  force  Marye's  Heights  and  strike  Lee's  rear. 

Once  more  the  stone  wall  blazed  with  death  for  the 
gallant  men  in  blue.  They  dashed  themselves  against 
it  wave  on  wave,  only  to  fall  back  in  confusion.  They 
tried  to  flank  it  and  failed.  Hour  after  hour  the  mad 
charges  rolled  against  this  hill  and  broke  in  deep  red 
pools  at  its  base.  There  were  but  nine  thousand  men 
holding  it  against  forty  thousand,  but  it  was  after 
noon  before  the  grey  lines  slowly  gave  way  and  Sedg- 
wick's  victorious  troops  poured  over  the  hill  toward 
Lee's  lines.  Hooker  had  asked  him  to  appear  at  day 
light.  The  long  rows  and  mangled  heaps  of  the  dead 
left  on  Marye's  bloody  slopes  was  sufficient  answer  to 
all  inquiries  as  to  his  delay. 

But  the  way  was  still  blocked.  The  receding  line  of 
grey  was  suddenly  supported  by  Early's  division  de 
tached  from  Lee's  reserves.  Again  Sedgwick  was 
stopped  and  fought  until  dark. 

As  the  sun  was  sinking  over  the  smoke-wreathed 
spring-clothed  trees  of  the  Wilderness,  Stuart  gathered 
Jackson's  corps  for  a  desperate  assault  on  Hooker's 
last  line  of  defense.  Waving  his  plumed  hat  high  above 
his  handsome  bearded  face,  he  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  his  troops  and  charged,  chanting  with  boyish  en 
thusiasm  his  improvised  battle  song: 

400 


'Waving  his  plumed  hat  ...  he  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  his  troops  and  charged." 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

"Old— Joe— Hooker, 

Won't  you  come  out  o'  the  Wilderness! 

Come  out  o'  the  Wilderness ! 

Come  out  o'  the  Wilderness ! 

Old — Joe — Hooker — 

Come  out  o'  the  Wilderness — 

Come — come — I  say!" 

The  cheering  grey  waves  swept  all  before  them  and 
left  Lee  in  full  possession  of  Chancellorsville  and  the 
whole  position  the  Federal  army  had  originally  held. 

As  the  Confederates  rolled  on,  driving  the  fiercely 
fighting  men  in  blue  before  them,  Lee  himself  rode  for 
ward  to  encourage  his  men  and  then  it  happened — 
the  thing  for  which  the  great  have  fought,  and  longed, 
and  dreamed  since  time  dawned — the  spontaneous 
tribute  of  the  brave  to  a  trusted  leader. 

His  victorious  troops  went  wild  at  the  sight  of  him. 
Above  the  crash  and  roar  of  battle  rose  the  shouts 
of  the  Southerners: 

"Hurrah  for  Lee!" 

"Lee!" 

"Lee!" 

From  lip  to  lip  the  thrilling  name  leaped  until  the 
wounded  and  the  dying  turned  their  eyes  to  see  and 
raised  their  feeble  voices: 

"Lee !— Lee !— Lee !" 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  he  received  the  note 
from  Jackson  announcing  that  he  was  badly  wounded. 
With  the  shouts  of  his  men  ringing  in  his  ears,  he  drew 
his  pencil  and  wrote  across  the  pommel  of  his  saddle: 

"GENERAL:    I  have  just  received  your  note  informing 
401 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


me  that  you  are  wounded.  I  cannot  express  my  regret  at 
the  occurrence.  Could  I  have  directed  events,  I  should 
have  chosen,  for  the  good  of  the  country,  to  be  disabled 
in  your  stead. 

"I  congratulate  you  upon  the  victory  which  is  due  to 
your  skill  and  energy. 

"Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

"R.  E.  LEE, 

"GENERAL." 

It  was  quick,  bloody  work  next  day  for  the  South 
erner  to  turn  and  spring  on  Sedgwick  with  the  ferocity 
of  a  tiger,  crush  and  hurl  his  battered  and  bleeding 
corps  back  on  the  river. 

Under  cover  of  a  storm  General  Couch,  in  command 
of  Hooker's  army,  retreated  across  the  Rappahannock. 
The  blue  and  grey  picket  lines  that  night  were  so  close 
to  each  other  the  men  could  talk  freely.  The  Southern 
boys  were  chaffing  the  Northerners  over  their  oft  re 
peated  defeats.  Through  the  darkness  a  Yankee  voice 
drawled : 

"Ah,  Johnnie,  shut  up — you  make  us  tired!  You're 
not  so  much  as  you  think  you  are.  Swap  Generals 
with  us  and  we'll  come  over  and  lick  hell  out  of  you !" 

A  silence  fell  over  the  boasting  ones  and  then  the 
listening  Yankee  heard  a  low  voice  chuckle  to  his  com 
rade: 

"I'm  damned  if  they  wouldn't,  too!" 

When  the  grey  dawn  broke  through  the  storm  they 
began  to  bury  the  dead  and  care  for  the  wounded. 
The  awful  struggle  had  ended  at  last. 

The  Northern  army  had  lost  seventeen  thousand 
men,  the  Southerners  thirteen  thousand. 

It  was  a  great  victory  for  the  South,  but  a  few 
402 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

more  such  victories  and  there  would  be  none  of  her 
brave  boys  left  to  tell  the  story. 

John  Vaughan's  company  had  been  detailed  to  help 
in  cleaning  the  field.  The  day  before,  on  Sunday 
morning,  they  had  eaten  their  breakfast  seated  on  the 
ground  among  hundreds  of  dead  bodies  whose  odor 
poisoned  the  air.  It  is  needless  to  say,  Julius  was  not 
present.  He  had  kept  the  river  between  him  and  the 
roar  of  contending  hosts. 

The  suffering  of  the  wounded  had  been  terrible. 
Some  of  them  had  fallen  on  Friday,  thousands  on 
Saturday,  and  it  was  now  Monday.  All  through  the 
blood-soaked  tangled  woods  they  lay  groaning  and 
dying.  And  everywhere  the  flap  of  black  wings.  The 
keen-eyed  vultures  had  seen  from  the  sky  where  they 
fell. 

John  found  a  brave  old  farmer  from  Northern  New 
York  lying  beside  his  son.  He  had  met  them  in  the 
fight  at  Fredericksburg  in  December. 

"Well,  here  we  are,  Vaughan,"  the  father  cried 
feebly.  "My  boy's  dead,  and  I'll  be  with  him  soon — 
but  it's  all  right — it's  all  right — my  country's  worth 
it!" 

They  were  lying  in  a  bright  open  space,  where  the 
warm  sun  of  May  had  pushed  the  wood  violets  into 
blossom  in  rich  profusion.  The  dead  boy's  head  lay 
in  a  bed  of  blue  flowers. 

Some  of  the  bodies  further  on  were  black  and  charred 
by  the  flames  that  had  swept  the  woods  again  and 
again  during  the  battles.  Some  of  them  had  been 
wounded  men  and  they  had  been  burned  to  death. 
Their  twisted  bodies  and  the  agony  on  their  cold  faces 
told  the  hideous  story  more  plainly  than  words.  The 

403 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


odor  of  burning  flesh  still  filled  the  air  in  these  black 
spots. 

With  a  start  John  suddenly  came  on  the  crouching 
figure  of  a  Confederate  soldier  kneeling  behind  a  stump, 
the  paper  end  of  the  cartridge  was  in  his  teeth  and 
his  fingers  still  grasped  the  ball.  He  was  just  in 
the  act  of  tearing  the  paper  as  a  bullet  crashed  straight 
through  his  forehead.  A  dark  streak  of  blood  marked 
his  face  and  clothes.  His  gun  was  in  his  other  hand, 
the  muzzle  in  place  to  receive  the  cartridge,  the  body 
cold  and  rigid  in  exactly  the  position  death  had  called 
him. 

A  broad-shouldered,  bearded  man  in  blue  had  just 
fallen  asleep  nearby.  The  body  was  still  warm,  the 
blue  eyes  wide  open,  staring  into  the  leaden  sky.  On 
his  breast  lay  an  open  Bible  with  a  bloody  finger 
mark  on  the  lines: 

"The  Lord  is  my  shepherd, 

I  shall  not  want 

He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures — 

He  restoreth  my  soul." 

A  hundred  yards  further  lay  a  dead  boy  from  his 
own  company.  The  stiff  hands  were  still  holding  a 
picture  of  his  sweetheart  before  the  staring  eyes.  Near 
him  lay  a  boy  in  grey  with  a  sweetheart's  letter  clasped 
in  his  hand.  They  had  talked  and  tried  to  cheer  one 
another,  these  dying  boys — talked  of  those  they  loved 
in  far  off  villages  as  the  mists  of  eternity  had  gathered 
about  them. 

It  was  late  that  night  before  the  wounded  had 
all  been  moved.  Through  every  hour  of  its  black 

404 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

watches  the  surgeons,  with  their  sleeves  rolled 
high,  their  arms  red,  bent  over  their  tasks,  until 
legs  and  arms  were  piled  in  ghastly  heaps  ten  feet 
high. 

As  John  Vaughan  turned  from  the  scene  where  he 
had  laid  a  wounded  man  to  wait  his  turn,  his  eye 
caught  the  look  of  terror  on  the  face  of  a  wounded 
Southern  boy.  He  was  a  slender  little  dark-haired 
fellow,  under  sixteen,  a  miniature  of  Ned.  The  surgeon 
had  just  taken  up  his  knife  to  cut  into  the  deep  flesh 
wound  for  the  Minie  ball  embedded  there.  John  saw 
the  slender  face  go  white  and  the  terror-stricken 
young  eyes  search  the  room  for  help.  His  breath  came 
in  quick  gasps  and  he  was  about  to  faint. 

John  slipped  his  arm  around  him: 

"Just  a  minute,  Doctor " 

He  pressed  his  hand  and  whispered: 

"Come  now,  little  man,  you're  among  your  enemies. 
You've  got  to  be  brave.  Show  your  grit  for  the  South. 
I've  got  a  brother  in  your  army  who  looks  like  you. 
No  white  feather  now  when  these  Yankees  can  see 
you." 

The  slender  figure  stiffened  and  his  eyes  flashed: 

"All  right!"  the  sturdy  lips  cried.  "Let  him  go 
ahead — I'm  ready  now!" 

John  held  his  hand,  while  the  knife  cut  through  the 
soft  young  flesh  and  found  the  lead.  The  grip  of  the 
slim  fingers  tightened,  but  he  gave  no  cry.  John 
handed  him  the  bullet  to  put  in  his  pocket  and  left 
him  smiling  his  thanks. 

He  began  to  wonder  vaguely  if  he  had  lost  his  cook 
forever.  Julius  should  have  found  the  regiment  before 
this.  It  was  just  before  day  that  he  came  on  him 

405 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


working  with  might  and  main  at  a  job  that  was  the 
last  one  on  earth  he  would  have  selected. 

He  had  been  seized  by  a  burying  squad  and  put  to 
work  dragging  corpses  to  the  trenches  from  the  great 
piles  where  the  wagons  had  dumped  them. 

The  black  man  rolled  his  eyes  in  piteous  appeal  to 
his  master: 

"For  Gawd's  sake,  Marse  John,  save  me — dese  here 
men  won't  lemme  go.  I  been  er  throwin'  corpses  inter 
dem  trenches  since  dark.  I'se  most  dead  frum  work, 
let  'lone  bein'  scared  ter  death." 

"Sorry,  Julius,"  was  the  quick  answer,  "we've  all 
got  to  work  at  a  time  like  this.  There's  no  help  for 
it." 

Julius  bent  again  to  his  horrible  task.  The  thing 
that  appalled  him  was  the  way  the  dead  men  kept 
looking  at  him  out  of  their  eyes  wide  and  staring  in 
the  flickering  light  of  the  lanterns. 

John  stood  watching  him  thoughtfully.  He  had 
finished  one  pile  of  bodies,  dragging  them  by  the  heels 
one  by  one,  and  throwing  them  into  the  trenches.  He 
was  just  about  to  begin  on  the  last  stack  when  he 
saw  that  he  had  left  one  lying  a  little  further  back  in 
the  shadows. 

Julius  looked  at  it  dubiously  and  scratched  his  head. 
He  didn't  like  the  idea  of  going  so  far  back  in  the 
dark,  away  from  the  light,  but  there  was  no  help  for 
it.  The  guard  stood  with  his  musket  scowling: 

"Get  a  move  on  you — damn  you,  don't  stand  there !" 
he  growled. 

Julius  walled  his  eyes  at  his  tormentor  and  ran  for 
the  body.  It  happened  to  be  the  sleeping  form  of  a 
tired  guard  who  had  been  up  three  nights.  The  negro 

406 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS 

grabbed  his  legs  and  rushed  toward  the  lights  and  the 
trenches. 

He  had  almost  reached  the  grave  when  the  corpse 
gave  a  vicious  kick  and  yelled: 

"Here— what'ell!" 

Julius  didn't  stop  to  look  or  to  answer.  What  he 
felt  in  his  hands  was  enough.  With  a  yell  of  terror  he 
dropped  the  thing  and  plunged  straight  ahead. 

"Gawd,  save  me!"  he  gasped. 

His  foot  slipped  on  the  edge  of  the  trench  and  he 
rolled  in  the  dark  hole.  With  the  leap  of  a  frightened 
panther  he  reached  the  solid  earth  and  flew,  each  leap 
a  muttered  prayer : 

"Save  me !  Lawd,  save  me !" 

Standing  there  beside  the  grim  piles  of  his  dead 
comrades  John  Vaughan  joined  the  guard  in  uncon 
trollable  laughter.  It  was  many  a  day  before  he  saw 
his  cook  again. 

The  laughter  suddenly  stopped,  and  he  turned  from 
the  scene  with  a  shudder. 

"I  wonder,"  he  muttered,  "if  I  live  through  this  war, 
whether  I'll  come  out  of  it  with  a  soul!" 

The  report  from  Chancellorsville  drifted  slowly, 
ominously,  appallingly,  over  Washington  with  the 
clouds  and  mists  of  the  storm  which  swept  up  the  Po 
tomac  and  shrouded  the  city  in  a  grey  mantle  of 
mourning.  The  White  House  was  still.  The  dead  were 
walking  through  its  great  rooms  of  state.  The 
anguished  heart  who  watched  by  the  window  to 
ward  the  hills  of  Virginia  saw  and  heard  each  muffled 
footfall. 

He  walked  to  the  table  with  stumbling,  uncertain 
step  at  last,  his  face  ghastly  and  rigid,  its  color  grey 

407 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


ashes,  his  deep  set  eyes  streaming  with  tears,  sank 
helplessly  into  a  chair,  and  for  the  first  time  gave  way 
to  despair: 

"O  my  God!  My  God!  what  will  the  country  say!" 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

THE  MOONLIT   RIVER 

Betty  Winter  was  quick  to  answer  the  hurry  call 
for  more  nurses  in  the  field  hospital  at  Chancellorsville. 
The  results  at  the  end  of  three  days'  carnage  had 
paralyzed  the  service. 

She  left  the  Carver  Hospital  on  receipt  of  the  first 
cry  for  help  and  hurried  to  her  home  to  complete  her 
preparations  to  leave  for  the  front. 

Her  father  was  at  breakfast  alone. 

She  called  her  greeting  from  the  hall,  rushed  to  her 
room,  packed  a  bag,  and  quickly  came  down. 

She  slipped  her  arm  around  his  neck,  bent  and 
kissed  him  good-bye.  He  held  her  a  moment: 

"You  must  leave  so  early,  dear?" 

"I  must  catch  the  first  boat  for  Aquia.  The  news 
from  the  front  is  hideous.  The  force  there  is  utterly 
inadequate.  They've  asked  for  every  nurse  that  can 
be  spared  for  a  week.  The  wounded  lay  on  the  ground 
for  three  days  and  nights,  and  hundreds  of  them  can't 
be  moved  to  Washington.  The  woods  took  fire  dozens 
of  times  and  many  of  the  poor  boys  were  terribly 
burned.  The  suffering,  they  say,  is  indescribable." 

The  old  man  suddenly  rose,  with  a  fierce  light  flash 
ing  in  his  eyes: 

"Oh,  the  miserable  blunderer  in  the»White  House — 

409 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


this  war  has  been  one  grim  and  awful  succession   of 
his  mistakes!" 

Betty  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm  in  tender  protest : 

"Father,  dear,  how  can  you  be  so  unreasonable — so 
insanely  unjust?  Your  hatred  of  the  President  is 
a  positive  mania— " 

"I'm  not  alone  in  my  affliction,  child;  Arnold  is 
his  only  friend  in  Congress  to-day " 

"Then  it's  a  shame — a  disgrace  to  the  Nation. 
Every  disaster  is  laid  at  his  door.  In  his  big  heart 
he  is  carrying  the  burden  of  millions — their  suffering, 
their  sorrows,  their  despair.  You  blamed  him  at  first 
for  trifling  with  the  war.  Now  you  blame  him  for 
the  bloody  results  when  the  army  really  fights.  You 
ask  for  an  effective  campaign  and  when  you  get  these 
tragic  battles  you  heap  on  his  head  greater  curses. 
It  isn't  right.  It  isn't  fair.  I  can't  understand  how 
a  man  with  your  deep  sense  of  justice  can  be  so  cruelly 
inconsistent " 

The  Senator  shook  his  grey  head  in  protest: 

"There!  there!  dear — we  won't  discuss  it.  You're 
a  woman  and  you  can't  understand  my  point  of  view. 
We'll  just  agree  to  disagree.  You  like  the  man  in 
the  White  House.  God  knows  he's  lonely — I  shouldn't 
begrudge  him  that  little  consolation.  His  whole  at 
titude  in  this  war  is  loathsome  to  me.  To  him  the 
Southerners  are  erring  brethren  to  be  brought  back 
as  prodigal  sons  in  the  end.  To  me  they  are  criminal 
outlaws  to  be  hanged  and  quartered — their  property 
confiscated,  the  foundations  of  their  society  destroyed, 
and  every  trace  of  their  States  blotted  from  the 
map " 

"Father !"      * 

410 


THE   MOONLIT   RIVER 


"Until  we  understand  that  such  is  the  purpose  of 
the  war  we  can  get  nowhere — accomplish  nothing. 
But  there,  dear — I  didn't  mean  to  say  so  much.  There 
is  always  one  thing  about  which  there  can  be  no  dis 
pute — I  love  my  little  girl " 

He  slipped  his  arm  about  her  tenderly  again. 

"I'm  proud  of  the  work  you're  doing  for  our  soldiers. 
They  tell  me  in  the  big  hospital  that  you're  an  angel. 
I've  always  known  it,  but  I'm  glad  other  people  are 
beginning  to  find  it  out.  In  all  the  horrors  of  this 
tragedy  there's  one  ray  of  sunshine  for  me — the  light 
that  shines  from  your  eyes!" 

He  bent  and  kissed  her  again: 

"Run   now,  and  don't  miss  your  boat." 

In  the  five  swift  days  of  tender  service  which  fol 
lowed,  Betty  Winter  forgot  her  own  heartache  and 
loneliness  in  the  pity,  pathos,  and  horror  of  the  scenes 
she  witnessed — the  drawn  white  faces — the  charred 
flesh,  the  scream  of  pain  from  the  young,  the  sigh  of 
brave  men,  the  last  messages  of  love — the  gasp  and 
the  solemn  silences  of  eternity. 

When  the  strain  of  the  first  rush  had  ended  and 
the  time  to  follow  the  lines  of  ambulance  wagons  back 
to  Washington  drew  near,  the  old  anguish  returned 
to  torture  her  soul.  She  told  herself  it  was  all  over, 
and  yet  she  knew  that  somewhere  in  that  vast  city  of 
tents,  stretching  for  miles  over  the  hills  and  valleys 
about  Falmouth  Heights,  was  John  Vaughan.  She 
had  put  him  resolutely  out  of  her  life.  She  said  this 
a  hundred  times — yet  she  was  quietly  rejoicing  that 
his  name  was  not  on  that  black  roll  of  seventeen 
thousand.  All  doubt  had  been  removed  by  the  an 
nouncement  in  the  Republican  of  his  promotion  to  the 

411 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


rank  of  Captain  for  gallantry  on  the  field  of  Chancel- 
lorsville. 

She  hoped  that  he  had  freed  himself  at  last  from 
evil  associates.  She  couldn't  be  sure — there  were  ugly 
rumors  flying  about  the  hospital  of  the  use  of  whiskey 
in  the  army.  These  rumors  were  particularly  busy 
with  Hooker's  name. 

Seated  alone  in  the  quiet  moonlight  before  the  field 
hospital,  the  balmy  air  of  the  South  which  she  drew 
in  deep  breaths  was  bringing  back  the  memory  of 
another  now.  The  pickets  had  been  at  their  usual 
friendly  tricks  of  trading  tobacco  and  coffee  and  ex 
changing  newspapers.  From  a  Richmond  paper  she 
had  just  learned  that  Ned  Vaughan  had  fought  in 
Lee's  army  at  Chancellorsville.  Somewhere  beyond 
the  silver  mirror  of  the  Rappahannock  he  was  with 
the  men  in  grey  to-night.  Her  heart  in  its  loneliness 
went  out  to  him  in  a  wave  of  tender  sympathy.  Again 
she  lived  over  the  tragic  hours  when  she  had  fought 
the  battle  for  his  life  and  won  at  last  at  the  risk  of 
her  own. 

A  soldier  saluted  and  handed  her  a  piece  of  brown 
wrapping  paper,  neatly  folded.  Its  corner  was  turned 
down  in  the  old-fashioned  way  of  a  schoolboy's  note 
to  his  sweetheart. 

She  went  to  the  light  and  saw  with  a  start  it  was 
in  Ned  Vaughan's  handwriting.  She  read,  with  eager, 
sparkling  eyes. 

"DEAREST:  I've  just  seen  in  a  Washington  paper 
which  our  boys  traded  for  that  you  are  here.  I  must  see 
you,  and  to-night.  I  can't  wait.  There  will  be  no  danger 
to  either  of  us.  Our  pickets  are  on  friendly  terms.  I've 


THE   MOONLIT   RIVER 


arranged  everything  with  some  good  tobacco  for  your  fel 
lows.  Follow  the  man  who  hands  you  this  note  to  the 
river.  A  boat  will  be  ready  for  you  there  with  one  of 
my  men  to  row  you  across.  I  will  be  waiting  for  you  at 
the  old  mill  beside  the  burned  pier  of  the  railroad  bridge. 

"NED." 

Betty's  heart  gave  a  bound  of  joy,  and  in  half  an 
hour  she  was  standing  on  the  shining  shore  of  the 
river  before  the  old  mill.  Its  great  wheel  was  slowly 
turning,  the  water  falling  in  broken  crystals  sparkling 
in  the  moonlight.  Through  the  windows  of  the  brick 
walls  peered  the  black-mouthed  guns  trained  across 
the  water. 

She  looked  about  timidly  for  a  moment  while  the 
man  in  grey  who  had  rowed  her  over  made  fast  his 
boat. 

He  tipped  his  old  slouch  hat: 

"This  way,  Miss." 

He  led  her  down  close  to  the  big  wheel,  crossed 
the  stream  of  water  which  poured  from  its  moss- 
covered  buckets,  and  there,  beneath  an  apple  tree  in 
bloom,  stood  a  straight,  soldierly  figure  in  the  full 
blue  uniform  of  a  Federal  Captain,  exactly  as  she 
had  seen  Ned  Vaughan  that  night  in  the  Old  Capitol 
Prison. 

The  soldier  saluted  and  Ned  said: 

"Wait,  Sergeant,  at  the  water's  edge  with  your 
boat." 

He  was  gone  and  Ned  grasped  both  Betty's  hands 
and  kissed  them  tenderly: 

"My  glorious  little  heroine!  I  just  had  to  tell  you 
again  that  the  life  you  saved  is  all,  all  yours.  You 
are  glad  to  see  me — aren't  you?" 

413 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"I  can't  tell  you  how  glad,  Boy!  How  brown  and 
well  you  look!" 

"Yes,  the  hard  life  somehow  agrees  with  me.  It's 
a  queer  thing,  this  army  business.  It  makes  some 
men  strong  and  clean,  and  others  into  beasts." 

"And  why  did  you  wear  that  dangerous  uniform, 
^sir?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"In  honor  of  a  beautiful  Yankee  girl,  my  guest. 
I've  not  worn  it  since  that  night,  Betty,  until  now " 

His  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper: 

"It  has  been  a  holy  thing  to  me,  this  blue  uniform 
that  cost  me  the  life  which  you  gave  back  at  the  risk 
of  your  own " 

"I  was  in  no  danger.     I  had  powerful  friends." 

"They  might  not  have  been  powerful  enough — but 
it's  sacred  for  another  reason — as  precious  to  me  as 
the  seamless  robe  for  which  the  Roman  soldiers  cast 
lots  on  Calvary — I  wore  it  in  the  one  glorious  mo 
ment  in  which  I  held  you  in  my  arms,  dearest." 

"O  Ned,  Boy,  you  shouldn't  be  so  foolish!" 

"I'm  not.  I'm  sensible.  I've  done  no  more  scout 
work  since.  I  said  that  my  life  was  yours  and  I  had 
no  right  to  place  it  again  in  such  mad  danger " 

"And  so  you  face  death  on  the  field!" 

"Yes,  come  sit  here,  dearest,  I've  made  a  seat  for 
you  of  the  broken  timbers  from  the  bridge.  We  can 
see  the  moonlit  river  and  the  lazy  turn  of  the  old 
wheel  while  we  talk." 

He  led  her  to  the  seat  in  the  edge  of  the  moonlight 
and  Betty  drew  a  deep  breath  of  joy  as  she  drank  in 
the  beauty  of  the  entrancing  scene.  The  shadows  of 
night  had  hidden  the  scars  of  war.  Only  the  tall  stone 
piers  standing,  lone  sentinels  in  the  river,  marked  its 


THE   MOONLIT  RIVER 


ravages  where  the  bridge  had  fallen.  The  moon  had 
flung  her  sparkling  silver  veil  over  the  blood-stained 
world. 

"You  know,"  Ned  went  on  eagerly,  "those  big  pil 
lars  won't  stand  there  naked  long.  We'll  put  the 
timbers  back  on  them  soon  and  run  our  trains  through 
to  Washington " 

"Sh,  Ned,"  Betty  whispered,  touching  his  arm 
lightly,  "be  still  a  moment,  I  want  to  feel  this  wonder 
ful  scene !" 

The  air  was  sweet  with  the  perfume  of  apple  blos 
soms,  the  water  from  the  old  wheel  fell  with  silvery 
echo  and  ran  rippling  over  the  stones  into  the  river. 
Somewhere  above  the  cliff  a  negro  was  playing  a  banjo 
and  far  down  the  river,  beside  a  little  cottage  torn 
with  shot  and  shell,  but  still  standing,  a  mocking-bird 
was  singing  in  the  lilac  bushes. 

The  girl  looked  at  Ned  with  curious  tenderness, 
and  wondered  if  she  had  known  her  own  heart  after 
all — wondered  if  the  fierce  blinding  passion  she  had 
once  felt  for  his  brother  had  been  the  divine  thing  that 
links  the  soul  to  the  eternal?  A  strange  spiritual 
beauty  enveloped  this  younger  man  and  drew  her  to 
night  with  new  power.  There  was  something  restful 
in  its  mystery.  She  wondered  vaguely  if  it  were  pos 
sible  to  love  two  men  at  the  same  moment.  She  could 
almost  swear  it  were.  If  she  had  never  really  loved 
John  Vaughan  at  all!  Why  had  his  powerful,  brutal 
personality  drawn  her  with  such  terrible  power?  Was 
such  a  force  love?  It  was  something  different  from 
the  tender  charm  which  enveloped  the  slender  straight 
young  figure  by  her  side  now.  She  felt  this  with  in 
creasing  certainty. 

415 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Ned  took  her  hand  and  kissed  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

The  touch  of  his  lips  sent  a  thrill  through  her  heart. 
It  was  sweet  to  be  worshipped  in  this  old-fashioned, 
foolish  way.  Whatever  her  own  feelings  might  be,  this 
was  love — in  its  divinest  flowering.  It  drew  her  to 
night  with  all  but  resistless  tug. 

"May  I  break  the  silence  now,  dearest,  to  ask  you 
something?"  he  said  softly. 

"Yes." 

"Haven't  you  realized  yet  that  you  are  going  to 
be  mine?" 

"Not  in  the  way  you  mean " 

"But  you  are,  dearest,  you  are!"  he  whispered 
rapturously.  "You  love  me.  You  just  haven't  really 
faced  the  thing  yet  and  put  it  to  the  test  in  your 
heart.  War  has  separated  us,  that's  all.  But  there's 
never  been  a  moment's  doubt  in  my  soul  since  I  looked 
into  your  eyes  that  night  in  the  old  prison.  Their  light 
made  the  cell  shine  with  the  glory  of  heaven!  And 
when  you  kissed  me,  dearest " 

"You  know  why  I  did  that,  Ned,"  she  murmured. 

"You're  fooling  yourself,  darling!  You  couldn't 
have  done  what  you  did,  if  you  hadn't  loved  me.  It 
came  to  me  in  a  flash  as  I  held  you  in  my  arms  and 
pressed  you  to  my  heart.  There  can  be  no  other 
woman  on  earth  for  me  after  that  moment.  I  lived 
a  life  time  with  it.  Say  you'll  be  mine,  dearest?" 

"But  I  don't  love  you,  Ned,  as  you  love  me " 

"I  don't  ask  it  now.  I  can  wait.  The  revelation 
will  come  to  you  at  last  in  the  fullness  of  time — 
promise  me,  dearest — promise  me!" 

For  an  hour  he  poured  into  her  ears  his  passionate 
tender  plea,  until  the  rapture  of  his  love,  the  perfumed 

416 


THE   MOONLIT   RIVEE 


air  of  the  spring  night,  and  the  shimmer  of  moonlit 
waters  stole  into  her  lonely  heart  with  resistless  charm. 

She  lifted  her  lips  to  his  at  last  and  whispered: 
'.    "Yes." 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

THE   PANIC 

The  morning  after  Betty  returned  to  Carver  Hos 
pital  from  the  front,  a  mother  was  pouring  out  her 
heart  in  a  burst  of  patriotic  joy  over  a  wounded  boy. 

She  thought  of  the  lonely  figure  in  the  White  House 
V  treading  the  wine  press  of  a  Nation's  sorrow  alone 
and  asked  the  mother  to  go  with  her  to  the  President, 
meet  him  and  repeat  what  she  had  said.  She  con 
sented  at  once. 

For  the  first  time  Betty  failed  to  gain  admission 
promptly.  Mr.  Stoddard,  his  third  Secretary,  was 
at  the  door. 

"We  must  let  him  eat  something,  Miss  Winter," 
he  whispered.  "All  night  the  muffled  sound  of  his 
footfall  came  from  his  room.  I  heard  it  at  nine,  at 
ten,  at  eleven.  At  midnight  Stanton  left  his  door 
ajar  and  his  steady  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  came  with 
heavier  sound.  The  last  thing  I  heard  as  I  left  at 
three  was  the  muffled  beat  upstairs.  The  guard  told 
me  it  never  stopped  for  a  moment  all  night." 

Betty  was  surprised  to  see  his  face  illumined  by  a 
cheerful  smile  as  she  entered.  She  gazed  with  awe 
into  the  deep  eyes  of  the  man  whose  single  word  could 
stop  the  war  and  divide  the  Union.  She  wondered  if 
he  had  fought  the  Nation's  battle  alone  with  God 
through  the  night  until  his  prophetic  vision  had  seen 

418 


THE   PANIC 


through  cloud  and  darkness  the  dawn  of  a  new  and 
more   wonderful   life. 

She  spoke  softly: 

"I've  brought  you  a  good  mother  who  lost  a  son 
at  Fredericksburg.  She  has  a  message  for  you." 

The  tall  form  bent  reverently  and  pressed  her  hand. 
A  wonderful  smile  transfigured  his  rugged  face  as  he 
listened : 

"God  help  you  in  your  trials,  Mr.  President,  as  he 
has  helped  me  in  mine " 

"And  you  lost  your  son  at  Fredericksburg?" 

"Yes.  It  was  long  before  I  could  feel  reconciled. 
But  I've  been  praying  for  you  day  and  night  since " 

"For  me?" 

"You  must  be  strong  and  courageous,  and  God 
will  bring  the  Nation  through!" 

"You  say  that  to  me,  standing  beside  the  grave  of 
your  son?" 

"Yes,  and  beside  the  cot  of  my  other  boy  who  is 
here  wounded  from  Chancellorsville.     I'm  proud  that 
God  gave  me   such   sons  to   lay  on  the   altar   of  my  * 
country.     Remember,  I  am  praying  for  you  day  and 
night!" 

Both  big  hands  closed  over  hers  and  he  was  silent 
a  moment. 

"It's  all  right  then.  I'll  get  new  strength  when  I 
remember  that  such  mothers  are  praying  for  me." 

He  pressed  Betty's  hand  at  the  door: 

"Thank  you,  child.  You  bring  medicine  that  reaches 
soul  and  body!" 

The  hour  of  despair  had  passed  and  the  President 
returned  to  his  task  patient,  watchful,  strong. 

Daily  the  shadows  deepened  over  the  Nation's  life. 
419 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Blacker  and  denser  rose  the  clouds.  Four  Northern 
Generals  had  now  gone  down  before  Lee's  apparently 
invincible  genius — McClellan,  Pope,  Burnside,  and 
Hooker,  and  with  each  fall  the  corpses  of  young  men 
were  piled  higher. 

Again  the  clamor  rose  for  the  return  of  McClellan 
to  command.  This  cry  was  not  only  heard  in  the 
crushed  Army  of  the  Potomac,  it  was  backed  by  the 
voice  of  two  million  Democrats  who  had  chosen  the 
man  on  horseback  as  their  leader. 

It  was  for  precisely  this  reason  that  McClellan  could 
not  be  considered  again  for  command.  His  party  had 
fallen  under  the  complete  control  of  its  Copperhead 
leaders  who  demanded  the  ending  of  the  war  at  once 
and  at  any  sacrifice  of  principle  or  of  the  Union. 

The  only  way  the  President  could  stop  desertions 

,  and  prevent  the  actual  secession  of  the  great  Northern 

'  States  of  the  Middle  West,  now  under  the  control  of 

these  men,  was  to  use  his  arbitrary  power  to  suspend 

the  civil  law  and  put  them  in  prison.     Through  the 

*  State  and  War  Departments  he  did  this  sorrowfully, 

but  promptly. 

His  answer  to  his  critics  was  the  soundest  reason 
ing  and  it  justified  him  in  the  judgment  of  thinking 
men. 

"I  make  such  arrests,"  he  declared,  "because  these 
men  are  laboring  to  prevent  the  raising  of  troops  and 
encouraging  desertion.  Armies  cannot  be  maintained 
unless  desertion  shall  be  punished  by  the  penalty  of 
death. 

"I  will  not  shoot  a  simple-minded  soldier  boy  who 
deserts,  and  refuse  to  touch  a  wily  agitator  who  in 
duces  him  to  commit  the  crime.  To  silence  the  agita- 

420 


THE   PANIC 


tor  and  save  the  boy  is  not  only  Constitutional,  but 
withal  a  great  mercy." 

Volunteers  were  no  longer  to  be  had  and  a  draft 
of  five  hundred  thousand  men  had  been  ordered  for  the 
summer.  The  Democratic  leaders  in  solid  array  were 
threatening  to  resist  this  draft  by  every  means  in  their 
power,  even  to  riot  and  revolution. 

The  masses  of  the  North  were  profoundly  discour 
aged  at  the  unhappy  results  of  the  war.  In  thou 
sands  of  patriotic  loyal  homes,  men  and  women  had 
begun  to  ask  themselves  whether  it  were  not  cruel  folly 
to  send  their  brave  boys  to  be  slaughtered. 

The  prestige  of  the  Southern  army  was  at  its 
highest  point  and  its  terrible  power  was  nowhere  more 
gravely  realized  than  in  the  North,  whose  thousands 
of  mourning  homes  attested  its  valor. 

Europe  at  last  seemed  ready  to  spring  on  the  throat 
of  America.  Distinct  reports  were  in  circulation  in 
the  Old  World  that  the  Emperor  of  France,  Napoleon 
III,  intended  to  interfere  in  our  affairs.  On  the  9th 
of  January,  the  French  Government  denied  this.  The' 
Emperor  himself,  however,  sent  to  the  President  an 
offer  of  mediation  so  blunt  and  surprising  it  could 
not  be  doubted  that  it  was  a  veiled  hint  of  his  purpose 
to  intervene.  Beyond  a  doubt  he  expected  the  Union 
to  be  dismembered  and  he  proposed  to  form  an  alliance  o 
between  the  Latin  Empire  which  he  was  founding  in 
Mexico  and  the  triumphant  Confederate  States. 

Great  Britain  was  behind  this  Napoleonic  adven 
ture.  Outwitted  by  the  President  in  the  affair  of  the 
Trent,  the  British  Government  was  eager  for  the 
chance  to  strike  the  Republic. 

To  cap  the  climax  of  disasters  Lee  was  preparing 
421 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


to  invade  the  North  with  his  victorious  army.  The  an 
nouncement  struck  terror  to  the  Northern  cities  and 
produced  a  condition  among  them  little  short  of  panic. 

The  move  would  be  the  height  of  audacity  and  yet 
Lee  had  good  reasons  for  believing  its  success  possible 
and  probable.  His  grey  veterans  were  still  ragged 
and  poorly  shod.  With  Southern  ports  blockaded 
and  no  manufacturing  this  was  inevitable,  but  they 
had  proven  in  two  years'  test  of  fire  Lee's  proud  boast : 

"There  never  were  such  men  in  an  army  before. 
They  will  go  anywhere  and  do  anything  if  properly 
led." 

This  opinion  was  confirmed  to  the  President  by 
Charles  Francis  Adams,  a  veteran  of  his  own  Army 
of  the  Potomac,  whom  he  summoned  to  the  White 
House  for  a  conference. 

"I  do  not  believe,"  said  Adams  gravely,  "that  any 
more  formidable  or  better  organized  and  animated 
force  was  ever  set  in  motion  than  that  which  Lee 
is  now  leading  toward  the  North.  It  is  essentially  an 
army  of  fighters — men  who  individually,  or  in  the 
mass,  can  be  depended  on  for  any  feat  of  arms  in  the 
power  of  mere  mortals  to  accomplish.  They  will  blanch 
at  no  danger.  Lee  knows  this  from  experience  and 
they  have  full  confidence  in  him." 

He  could  not  hope  to  enter  Pennsylvania  with  more 
than  sixty-five  thousand  men,  but  his  plan  was  rea 
sonable.  With  such  an  army  he  had  hurled  McClellan's 
hundred  and  ten  thousand  soldiers  back  from  the 
gates  of  Richmond  and  scattered  them  to  the  winds. 
With  a  less  number  he  had  all  but  annihilated  Pope's 
men  and  flung  them  back  into  Washington  a  disor 
ganized  rabble.  With  thirty-seven  thousand  grey  sol- 


THE   PANIC 


diers  he  had  repelled  in  a  welter  of  blood  McClellan's 
eighty-six  thousand  at  Antietam  and  retired  at  his 
leisure.  With  seventy  thousand  men  he  had  crushed 
Burnside's  host  of  one  hundred  and  thirteen  thousand 
at  Fredericksburg.  With  sixty  thousand  he  had  just 
struck  Hooker's  grand  army  of  a  hundred  and  thirty 
thousand  men  and  four  hundred  and  thirty-eight  guns, 
rolled  it  up  as  a  scroll  and  thrown  it  across  the  Rap- 
pahannock  in  blinding,  bewildering  defeat. 

From  every  prisoner  taken  at  Fredericksburg  and 
Chancellorsville  he  knew  the  Northern  army  was  dis 
couraged  and  heartsick.  That  he  could  march  his 
ragged  men,  the  flower  of  Southern  manhood,  into 
Pennsylvania  and  clothe  and  feed  them  on  her  bound 
less  resources  he  couldn't  doubt.  Virginia  was  swept 
bare,  and  the  demoralization  of  Hooker's  army  with 
the  profound  depression  of  the  North  left  his  way 
open. 

To  say  that  Lee's  invasion,  as  it  rapidly  developed 
under  such  conditions,  struck  terror  to  the  Capital  of 
the  Republic  is  to  mildly  express  it.  The  movement 
of  his  army  from  Culpepper  in  June  indicated  clearly 
that  his  objective  point  was  Harrisburg,  Pennsyl 
vania.  If  the  Capital  of  the  State  fell,  nothing  could 
withstand  the  onward  triumphant  rush  of  his  army 
into  Philadelphia,  Baltimore  and  Washington. 

To  meet  the  extraordinary  danger  the  President 
called  for  one  hundred  thousand  militia  for  six  months' 
emergency  service  from  the  five  States  clustering  around 
Pennsylvania.  And  yet  as  the  two  armies  drew  near  to 
each  other,  General  George  Meade,  the  new  Union  Com 
mander  who  had  succeeded  Hooker,  had  but  one  hun 
dred  and  five  thousand  against  Lee's  sixty-two  thou- 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


sand.  So  terrible  had  been  the  depression  following 
Chancellorsville,  so  rapid  the  desertions,  so  numerous 
the  leaves  of  absence,  that  the  combined  forces  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  with  the  State  troops  under  the 
new  call  reached  only  this  pitiful  total. 

Lee's  swift  column  penetrated  almost  to  the  gates 
of  Harrisburg  before  Meade's  advance  division  of 
twenty-five  thousand  men  had  caught  up  with  his  rear 
at  Gettysburg  on  July  1st. 

Seeing  that  a  battle  was  inevitable,  Lee  drew  in  his 
advance  lines  and  made  ready  for  the  clash.  The 
Northern  army  was  going  into  this  fight  with  the  small 
est  number  of  men  relatively  which  he  had  ever  met — 
though  outnumbering  him  nearly  two  to  one.  The 
difference  was  that  here  the  North  was  defending  her 
own  soil. 

It  was  not  surprising  that  on  the  eve  of  such  a 
battle  in  the  light  of  the  frightful  experiences  of  the 
past  two  years  that  Washington  should  be  in  a  con 
dition  of  panic.  A  single  defeat  now  with  Lee's  vic 
torious  army  north  of  the  Capital  meant  its  fall,  the 
inevitable  dismemberment  of  the  Union,  and  the  bank 
ruptcy  and  ruin  of  the  remaining  Northern  States. 

Brave  men  in  Congress  who  had  fought  heroically 
with  their  mouths  inveighing  with  bitter  invective 
against  the  weak  and  vacillating  policy  of  the  Presi 
dent  in  temporizing  with  the  South  were  busy  packing 
their  goods  and  chattels  to  fly  at  a  moment's  notice. 

The  President  realized,  as  no  other  man  could,  the 
deep  tragedy  of  the  crisis.  He  sat  by  his  window 
for  hours,  his  face  a  grey  mask,  his  sorrowful  eyes 
turned  within,  the  deep-cut  lines  furrowed  into  his 
cheeks  as  though  burned  with  red  hot  irons. 


THE   PANIC 


He  was  struggling  desperately  now  to  forestall  the 
possible  panic  which  would  follow  defeat.  ; 

He  had  sent  once  more  for  McClellan  and  in  painful 
silence,  all  others  excluded  from  the  Executive  Cham 
ber,  awaited  his  coming. 

"You  are  doubtless  aware,  General,"  the  President 
began,  "that  a  defeat  at  Gettysburg  might  involve  the 
fall  of  the  Capital  and  the  dismemberment  of  the 
Union?" 

"I  am,  sir." 

"First,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  with  perfect  frank 
ness  about  some  ugly  matters  which  have  come  to  my 
ears — may  I?" 

The  compelling  blue  eyes  flashed  and  the  General 
spoke  with  an  accent  of  impatience : 

"Certainly." 

"A  number  of  Secret  Societies  have  overspread  the  « 
North  and  Northwest,  whose  purpose  is  to  end  the 
war  at  once  and  on  any  terms.  I  have  the  best  of 
reasons  for  believing  that  the  men  back  of  these  Orders 
are  now  in  touch  with  the  Davis  Government  in  Rich 
mond.  I  am  informed  that  a  coterie  of  these  con 
spirators,  a  sort  of  governing  board,  have  gotten  con 
trol  or  may  get  control  of  the  organization  of  your 
Party.  I  have  heard  the  ugly  rumor  that  they  are 
counting  on  you " 

"Stop!"  McClellan  shouted. 

The  General  sprang  to  his  feet,  the  President  rose 
and  the  two  men  confronted  each  other  in  a  moment 
of  tense  silence. 

The  compact  figure  of  McClellan  was  trembling  with 
rage — the  tall  man's  sombre  eyes  holding  his  with  steady 
purpose. 

425 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"No   man   can   couple   the   word   treason   with   my 
name,  sir !"  the  General  hissed. 
"Have  I  done  so?" 

"You  are  insinuating  it — and  I  demand  a  retrac 
tion!" 

The  President  smiled  genially: 

"Then  I   apologize   for  my  carelessness   of  expres 
sion.    I  have  never  believed  you  a  traitor  to  the  Union." 
"Thank  you!" 

"I  don't  believe  it  now,  General.  That's  why  I've 
sent  for  you." 

"Then  I  suggest  that  you  employ  more  caution  in 
the  use  of  words  if  this  conversation  is  to  continue." 

"Again  I  apologize,  General,  with  admiration  for 
your  manner  of  meeting  the  ugly  subject.  I'm  glad  you 
feel  that  way — and  now  if  you  will  be  seated  we  can 
talk  business."' 

McClellan  resumed  his  seat  with  a  frown  and  the 
President  went  on: 

"I  have  sent  for  you  to  ask  an  amazing  thing " 

"Hence  the  secrecy  with  which  I  am  summoned?" 
"Exactly.     I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  take  my  place 
.  and  save  the  Union." 

McClellan's  handsome  face  went  white : 
"What  do  you  mean?" 
"Exactly  what  I've  said." 

"And  your  conditions?"  the  General  asked,  with  a 
quiver  in  his  voice. 

"They  are  very  simple:  Preside  to-morrow  night 
at  a  great  Democratic  Union  Mass  Meeting  in  New 
York  and  boldly  put  yourself  at  the  head  of  the  Union 

Democracy " 

"And  you?" 

426 


THE   PANIC 


"I  will  withdraw  from  the  race." 

"What  race?" 

"For  the  next  term  of  the  Presidency." 

"Oh " 

"My  convention  is  but  ten  months  off.  Yours  can 
meet  a  day  earlier.  I  will  withdraw  in  your  favor  and 
force  my  Party  to  endorse  you.  Your  election  will 
be  a  certainty." 

The  General  lifted  his  hand  with  a  curious  smile: 

"You're   in   earnest?" 

"I  was  never  more  so.  It  is  needless  for  me  to  say 
that  I  came  into  this  office  with  high  ambitions  to  serve 
my  country.  My  dream  of  glory  has  gone — I  have  left 

only  agony  and  tears "  He  paused  and  drew 

a  deep  breath. 

"I  did  want  the  chance,"  he  went  on  wistfully,  "to 
stay  here  another  term  to  see  the  sun  shine  again, 
to  heal  my  country's  wounds,  and  show  all  my  people, 
North,  South,  East,  and  West,  that  I  love  them !  But 
I  can't  risk  this  new  battle,  if  you  will  agree  to  take  my 
place  and  save  the  Union.  Will  you  preside  over 
such  a  meeting?" 

"No,"  was  the  sharp,  clear  answer. 

"I  am  sorry — why?" 

"Perhaps  I  am  already  certain  of  that  election  with 
out  your  assistance?" 

"Oh— I  see." 

"Besides,  what  right  have  you  to  ask  anything  of 
me?" 

"Only  the  right  of  one  who  sinks  all  thought  of  him 
self  in  what  he  believes  to  be  the  greater  good." 

"You  who,  with  victory  in  my  grasp  before  Rich 
mond,  snatched  it  away !  You,  who  nailed  me  to  the 

427 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


cross  on  the  bloody  field  of  Antietam  with  your  ac 
cursed  Proclamation  of  Emancipation  and  removed 
me  from  my  command  before  I  could  win  my  cam 
paign  !" 

The  big  hand  rose  in  kindly  protest : 

"Can't  you  believe  me,  General,  when  I  tell  you,  with 
God  as  my  witness,  that  I  have  never  allowed  a  per 
sonal  motive  or  feeling  to  enter  into  a  single  appoint 
ment  or  removal  I  have  made?  What  I've  done  has 
always  been  exactly  what  I  believed  was  for  the  best 
interests  of  the  country.  Can't  you  believe  this?" 

"No." 

"In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  risked  the  dissolution 
of  my  Cabinet  and  the  united  opposition  of  my  party 
when  I  restored  you  to  command?" 

"No — you  had  to  do  it." 

"Grant  then,"  the  persuasive  voice  went  on,  "that 
I  have  treated  you  unfairly,  that  I  had  personal  feel 
ings.  Surely  you  should  in  this  hour  of  my  reckoning, 
this  hour  of  my  Golgotha,  when  I  climb  the  hill  alone 
and  ask  the  man  I  have  wronged  to  take  my  place — 
surely  you  should  be  content  with  my  humiliation? 
I  shall  not  hesitate  to  proclaim  it  from  the  housetop 
when  I  ask  for  your  election.  If  I  have  wronged  you, 
my  anguish  could  not  be  more  pitifully  complete! 
Will  you  do  as  I  ask,  and  assure  the  safety  of  our 
country?" 

"I'll  do  my  best  to  save  my  country,"  was  the  slow, 
firm  answer,  "but  in  my  own  way." 

The  General  rose,  bowed  stiffly  and  left  the  Presi 
dent  standing  in  sorrowful  silence,  his  deep  eyes  star 
ing  into  space  and  seeing  nothing. 

On  the  morning  of  July  1st  the  two  armies  were 
428 


THE   PANIC 


rapidly  approaching  each  other,  marching  in  parallel 
lines  stretched  over  a  vast  distance — the  extreme  wings 
more  than  forty  miles  apart. 

Buford,  commanding  the  advance  guard  of  the 
Union  army,  struck  Hill's  division  of  the  Confederates 
before  the  town  of  Gettysburg  and  the  first  gun  of 
the  great  battle  echoed  over  the  green  hills  and  val 
leys  of  Pennsylvania. 

The  President  caught  the  flash  of  the  shock  from 
the  telegraph  wires  with  a  sense  of  sickening  dread. 
The  rear  guard  of  his  army  was  yet  forty  miles 
away.  What  might  happen  before  they  were  in  line 
God  alone  could  tell.  He  could  not  know,  of  course, 
that  but  twenty-two  thousand  Confederates  had 
reached  the  field  and  stood  confronting  twenty-four 
thousand  under  John  F.  Reynolds,  one  of  the  ablest 
and  bravest  generals  of  the  Union  army. 

Through  every  hour  of  this  awful  day  he  sat  in  the 
telegraph  office  of  the  War  Department  and  read  with 
bated  breath  the  news. 

The  brief  reports  were  not  reassuring.  The  battle 
was  raging  with  unparalleled  fury.  At  ten  o'clock 
General  Reynolds  fell  dead  from  his  horse  in  front 
of  his  men,  and  when  the  news  was  flashed  to  Meade 
he  sent  Hancock  forward  riding  at  full  speed  to  take 
command. 

The  President  read  the  message  announcing  Rey 
nolds'  death  with  quivering  lip.  He  put  his  big  hand 
blindly  over  his  heart  as  if  about  to  faint. 

At  three  o'clock  the  smoke  which  had  enveloped  the 
battle  line  was  lifted  by  a  breeze  as  Hancock  dashed 
on  the  field.  He  had  not  arrived  a  moment  too  soon. 
His  superb  bearing  on  his  magnificent  horse,  his  shouts 

429 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


of  confidence,  his  promise  of  heavy  reinforcements, 
stayed  the  tide  of  retreat  and  brought  order  out  of 
chaos. 

The  day  had  been  won  again  by  Lee's  apparently 
invincible  men.  They  had  driven  the  Union  army  from 
their  line  a  mile  in  front  of  Gettysburg  back  through 
the  town  and  beyond  it,  captured  the  town,  taken 
five  thousand  men  in  blue  prisoners  with  two  generals, 
besides  inflicting  a  loss  of  three  thousand  killed  and 
wounded,  including  among  the  dead  the  gallant  and 
popular  commander,  John  F.  Reynolds. 

When  this  message  reached  the  President  late  at 
night  he  had  eaten  nothing  since  breakfast.  He  rose 
from  his  seat  in  the  telegraph  office  and  walked  from 
the  building  alone  in  silence.  His  step  was  slow,  trance- 
like,  and  uncertain  as  if  he  were  only  half  awake  or 
had  risen  walking  in  his  sleep. 

He  went  to  his  bedroom,  locked  the  door  and  fell 
on  his  knees  in  prayer.  Hour  after  hour  he  wrestled 
alone  with  God  in  the  darkness,  while  his  tired  army 
rushed  through  the  night  to  plant  themselves  on  the 
Heights  beyond  Gettysburg,  before  Lee's  men  could 
be  concentrated  to  forestall  them. 

Over  and  over  again,  through  sombre  eyes  that 
streamed  with  tears,  the  passionate  cry  was  wrung 
from  his  heart: 

"Lord  God  of  our  fathers,  have  mercy  on  us!  I 
have  tried  to  make  this  war  yours — our  cause  yours — 
if  I  have  sinned  and  come  short,  forgive!  We  cannot 
endure  another  Fredericksburg  or  Chancellorsville. 
Into  thy  hands,  O  Lord,  I  give  our  men  and  our  coun 
try  this  night — save  them!" 


430 


CHAPTER    XXX 

SUNSHINE    AND    STORM 

When  the  sun  rose  over  Gettysburg  on  the  second 
day  of  July,  the  Union  army,  rushing  breathlessly 
through  the  night  to  the  rescue  of  its  defeated  advance 
corps,  had  reached  the  heights  beyond  the  town.  Before 
Longstreet  had  attempted  to  obey  Lee's  command  to 
take  these  hills,  General  Meade's  blue  host  had  reached 
them  and  were  entrenching  themselves. 

The  Confederate  Commander  discovered  that  in  the 
death  of  Jackson,  he  had  lost  his  right  arm. 

It  was  one  o'clock  before  Longstreet  moved  to  the 
attack,  hurling  his  columns  in  reckless  daring  against 
these  bristling  heights.  When  darkness  drew  its  kindly 
veil  over  the  scene,  Lee's  army  had  driven  General 
Sickles  from  his  chosen  position  to  his  second  line 
of  defense  on  the  hill  behind,  gained  a  foothold  in  the 
famous  Devil's  Den  at  the  base  of  the  Round  Tops, 
broken  the  lines  of  the  Union  right  and  held  their 
fortifications  on  Gulp's  Hill. 

The  day  had  been   one   of   frightful   slaughter. 

The  Union  losses  in  the  two  days  had  reached  the 
appalling  total  of  more  than  twenty  thousand  men. 
Lee  had  lost  fifteen  thousand. 

The  brilliant  July  moon  rose  and  flooded  this  field 
of  blood  and  death  with  silent  glory.  From  every 
nook  and  corner,  from  every  shadow  and  across  every 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


open  space,  through  the  hot  breath  of  the  night,  came 
the  moans  of  thousands,  and  louder  than  all  the  long 
agonizing  cries  for  water.  Many  a  man  in  grey 
crawled  over  the  ragged  rocks  to  press  his  canteen 
to  the  lips  of  his  dying  enemy  in  blue,  and  many  a 
boy  in  blue  did  as  much  for  the  man  in  grey. 

Fifteen  thousand  wounded  men  lay  there  through 
the  long  black  hours. 

At  ten  o'clock  a  wounded  Christian  soldier  began  to 
sing  one  of  the  old,  sweet  hymns  of  faith,  whose  words 
have  come  ringing  down  the  ages  wet  with  tears  and 
winged  with  human  hopes.  In  five  minutes  ten  thou 
sand  voices  of  blue  and  grey,  some  of  them  quivering 
with  the  agony  of  death,  had  joined.  For  two  hours 
the  woods  and  hills  rang  with  the  songs  of  these 
wounded  men. 

All  through  this  pitiful  music  the  Confederates  were 
massing  their  artillery  on  Seminary  Ridge,  replacing 
their  wounded  horses  and  refilling  their  ammunition 
chests. 

The  Union  army  were  burrowing  like  moles  and 
planting  their  terrible  batteries  on  the  brows  of  the 
hills  beyond  the  town. 

At  Lee's  council  of  war  that  night  Longstreet  ad 
vised  his  withdrawal  from  Gettysburg  into  a  more 
favorable  position  in  the  mountains.  But  the  Con 
federate  Commander,  reinforced  now  by  the  arrival 
of  Pickett's  division  of  fifteen  thousand  men  and 
Stuart's  cavalry,  determined  to  renew  the  battle. 

At  the  first  grey  streak  of  dawn  on  the  3rd  the 
Federal  guns  roared  their  challenge  to  the  Confed 
erate  forces  which  had  captured  their  entrenchments 
on  Gulp's  Hill.  Seven  terrible  hours  of  bombardment, 

432 


SUNSHINE   AND   STORM 

charge  and  counter  charge  followed  until  every  foot 
of  space  had  claimed  its  toll  of  dead,  before  the  Con 
federates  yielded  the  Hill. 

At  noon  there  was  an  ominous  lull  in  the  battle. 
At  one  o'clock  a  puff  of  smoke  from  Seminary  Ridge 
was  followed  by  a  dull  roar.  The  signal  gun  had  pealed 
its  call  of  death  to  thousands.  For  two  miles  along  the 
crest  of  this  Ridge  the  Confederates  had  planted  one 
hundred  and  fifty  guns.  Two  miles  of  smoke-wreathed 
flame  suddenly  leaped  from  those  hills  in  a  single  fiery 
breath. 

The  longer  line  of  big  Federal  guns  on  Seminary 
Ridge  were  silent  for  a  few  minutes  and  then  answered 
gun  for  gun  until  the  heavens  were  transformed  into  a 
roaring  hell  of  bursting,  screaming,  flaming  shells. 
For  two  hours  the  earth  trembled  beneath  the  shock 
of  these  volcanoes,  and  then  the  two  storms  died 
slowly  away  and  the  smoke  began  to  lift. 

An  ominous  sign.  The  grey  infantry  were  deploy 
ing  in  line  under  Pickett  to  charge  the  heights  of 
Cemetery  Ridge.  Fifteen  thousand  gallant  men 
against  an  impregnable  hill  held  by  seventy  thousand 
intrenched  soldiers,  backed  by  the  deadliest  and  most 
powerful  artillery. 

They  swept  now  into  the  field  before  the  Heights, 
their  bands  playing  as  if  on  parade — their  grey  ranks 
dressed  on  their  colors.  Down  the  slope  across  the 
plain  and  up  the  hill  the  waves  rolled,  their  thinning 
ranks  closing  the  wide  gaps  torn  each  moment  by 
the  fiery  sleet  of  iron  and  lead. 

A  handful  of  them  lived  to  reach  the  Union  lines 
on  those  heights.  Armistead,  with  a  hundred  men, 
broke  through  and  lifted  his  battle  flag  for  a  moment 

433 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


over   a  Federal  battery,   and   fell  mortally  wounded. 

And  then  the  shattered  grey  wave  broke  into  a 
spray  of  blood  and  slowly  ebbed  down  the  hill.  The 
battle  of  Gettysburg  had  ended. 

For  the  first  time  the  blue  Army  of  the  Potomac 
had  won  a  genuine  victory.  It  had  been  gained  at  a 
frightful  cost,  but  no  price  was  too  high  to  pay  for 
such  a  victory.  It  had  saved  the  Capital  of  the 
Nation.  The  Union  army  had  lost  twenty-three  thou 
sand  men,  the  Confederate  twenty  thousand.  Meade 
had  lost  seventeen  of  his  generals,  and  Lee,  fourteen. 

When  the  thrilling  news  from  the  front  reached 
Washington  on  July  4th,  the  President  lifted  his  big 
hands  above  his  head  and  cried  to  the  crowd  of  ex 
cited  men  who  thronged  the  Executive  office: 

"Unto  God  we  give  all  the  praise !" 

None  of  those  present  knew  the  soul  significance  of 
that  sentence  as  it  fell  from  his  trembling  lips.  He 
seated  himself  at  his  desk  and  quickly  wrote  a  brief 
proclamation  of  thanks  to  Almighty  God,  which  he 
telegraphed  to  the  Governor  of  each  Union  State,  re 
questing  them  to  repeat  it  to  their  people. 

While  the  North  was  still  quivering  with  joy  over 
the  turn  of  the  tide  at  Gettysburg,  Gideon  Welles,  the 
Secretary  of  the  Navy,  hurried  into  the  President's 
office  and  handed  him  a  dispatch  from  the  gunboat 
under  Admiral  Porter  cooperating  with  General  Grant 
announcing  the  fall  of  Vicksburg,  the  surrender  of 
thirty-five  thousand  Confederate  soldiers  of  its  garri 
son,  and  the  opening  of  the  Mississippi  River  to  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico. 

The  President  seized  his  hat,  his  dark  face  shining 
with  j  oy : 

434 


SUNSHINE   AND   STORM 

"I  will  telegraph  the  news  to  General  Meade  myself !" 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  threw  his  long  arms 
around  Welles: 

"What  can  we  do  for  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy  for 
this  glorious  intelligence?  He  is  always  giving  us  good 
news.  I  cannot  tell  you  my  joy  over  this  result.  It 
is  great,  Mr.  Welles,  it  is  great !" 

With  the  eagerness  of  a  boy  he  rushed  to  the  tele 
graph  office  and  sent  the  message  to  Meade  over  his 
own  signature. 

For  the  first  time  in  dreary  months  the  sun  had 
burst  for  a  moment  through  the  clouds  that  had  hung 
in  endless  gloom  over  the  White  House.  The  sorrow 
ful  eyes  were  shining  with  new  hope.  The  President 
felt  sure  that  General  Lee  could  never  succeed  in  lead 
ing  his  shattered  army  back  into  Virginia.  He  had 
lost  twenty  thousand  men  out  of  his  sixty-two  thou 
sand — while  Meade  was  still  in  command  of  a  grand 
army  of  eighty-two  thousand  soldiers  flushed  with 
victory.  The  Potomac  River  was  in  flood  and 
the  Confederate  army  was  on  its  banks  unable  to  re- 
cross. 

It  was  a  moral  certainty  that  the  heroic  Commander 
who  had  saved  the  Capital  at  Gettysburg  could,  with 
his  eighty-two  thousand  men,  capture  or  crush  Lee's 
remaining  force,  caught  in  this  trap  by  the  swollen 
river,  and  end  the  war. 

The  men  who  crowded  into  the  Executive  office  the 
day  after  the  news  of  Vicksburg,  found  the  Chief  Mag 
istrate  in  high  spirits.  Among  the  cases  of  deserters, 
court-martialed  and  ordered  to  be  shot,  he  was  sur 
prised  to  find  a  negro  soldier  bearing  the  remarkable 
name  of  Julius  Cassar  Thornton.  John  Vaughan  had 

435 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


telegraphed  the  President  asking  his  interference  with 
the  execution  of  this  cruel  edict. 

The  President  was  deeply  interested.  It  was  the 
*  beginning  of  the  use  of  negro  troops.  He  had  con 
sented  to  their  employment  with  reluctance,  but  they 
were  proving  their  worth  to  the  army,  both  in  battle 
and  in  the  work  of  garrisons. 

Julius  was  brought  from  prison  for  an  interview  with 
the  Chief  Magistrate. 

Stanton  had  sternly  demanded  the  enforcement  of 
the  strictest  military  discipline  as  the  only  way  to 
make  these  black  troops  of  any  real  service  to  the 
Government.  He  asked  that  an  example  be  made  of 
Julius  by  sending  him  back  to  the  army  to  be  publicly 
shot  before  the  assembled  men  of  his  race.  He  was 
convicted  of  two  capital  offenses.  He  had  been  caught 
in  Washington  shamelessly  flaunting  the  uniform  he 
had  disgraced. 

Julius  faced  the  President  with  an  humble  salute 
and  a  broad  grin.  The  black  man  liked  the  looks  of 
his  judge  and  he  threw  off  all  embarrassment  his 
situation  had  produced  with  the  first  glance  at  the 
kindly  eyes  gazing  at  him  over  the  rims  of  those  spec 
tacles. 

"Well,  Julius  Caesar  Thornton,  this  is  a  serious 
charge  they  have  lodged  against  you?" 

"Yassah,  dat's  what  dey  say." 

"You  went  forth  like  a  man  to  fight  for  your  coun 
try,  didn't  you?" 

"Na,  sah!" 

"How'd  you  get  there?" 

"Dey  volunteered   me,   sah." 

"Volunteered  you,  did  they?"  the  President  laughed. 

436 


SUNSHINE   AND   STORM 

"Yassah — dat  dey  did.  Dey  sho'  volunteered  me 
whether  er  no " 

"And  how  did  it  happen?" 

"Dey  done  hit  so  quick,  sah,  I  scacely  know  how 
dey  did  do  hit.  I  was  in  de  war  down  in  Virginia 
wid  Marse  John  Vaughan — an'  er  low-lifed  Irishman 
on  guard  dar  put  me  ter  wuk  er  buryin'  corpses.  I 
hain't  nebber  had  no  taste  for  corpses  nohow,  an'  I 
didn't  like  de  job — mo'  specially,  sah,  when  one  ob  'em 
come  to  ez  I  was  pullin'  him  froo  de  dark  ter  de 
grave " 

"Come  to,  did  he?"  the  President  smiled. 

"Yassah — he  come  to  all  of  er  sudden  an'  kicked  me ! 
An'  hit  scared  me  near  'bout  ter  death.  I  lit  out  fum 
dar  purty  quick,  sah,  an'  go  West.  An'  I  ain't  mor'n 
got  out  dar  'fore  two  fellers  drawed  dere  muskets  on 
me  an'  persuaded  me  ter  volunteer,  sah.  Dey  put 
dese  here  cloze  on  me  an'  tell  me  dat  I  wuz  er  hero. 
I  tell  'em  dey  must  be  some  mistake  'bout  dat,  but  dey 
say  no — dey  know  what  dey  wuz  er  doin'.  Dey  keep 
on  tellin'  me  dat  I  wuz  er  hero  an',  by  golly,  I  'gin 
ter  b'lieve  hit  myself  till  dey  git  me  into  trouble,  sah." 

"You  were  in  a  battle?" 

Julius  scratched  his  head  and  walled  his  eyes : 

"I  had  er  little  taste  ob  it,  sah, " 

"Well,  you  tried  to  fight,  didn't  you?" 

"Na,  sah,— I  run." 

"Ran  at  the  first  fire?" 

"Yas,  sah!  An'  I'd  a  ran  sooner  ef  I'd  er  known 
hit  wuz  comin' " 

Julius  paused  and  broke  into  a  jolly  laugh: 

"Dey  git  one  pop  at  me,  sah,  'fore  I  seed  what  dey 
wuz  doin' !" 

437 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The    President    suppressed    a    laugh    and    gazed    at 

Julius  with  severity: 

"That  wasn't  very  creditable  to  your  courage." 
"Dat  ain't  in  my  line,  sah, — Pse  er  cook." 
"Have  you  no  regard  for  your  reputation?" 
"Dat  ain't  nuttin'  ter  me,  sah,  'side  er  life !" 
"And  your  life  is  worth  more  than  other  people's?" 
"Worth  er  lot  mo'  ter  me,  sah." 
"I'm  afraid  they  wouldn't  have  missed  you,  Julius, 

if  you'd  been  killed." 

"Na,  sah,  but  Pd  a  sho  missed  myself  an'  dat's  de 

pint  wid  me." 

The  President  fixed  him  with  a  comical  frown: 
"It's  sweet  and  honorable  to  die  for  one's  country, 
'  Julius !" 

"Yassah — dat's    what    I    hear — but    I    ain't    fond 

*  er  sweet  things — I  ain't  nebber  hab  no  taste  fer  'em, 
sah!" 

"Well,  it  looks  like  I'll  have  to  let  'em  have  you, 
Julius,  for  an  example.  I've  tried  to  save  you — but 
there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  thing  to  take  hold  of. 
Every  time  I  grab  you,  you  slip  right  through  my 

fingers.     I  reckon  they'll  have  to  shoot  you " 

The  negro  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh: 
"G'way  fum  here,  Mr.   President!     You  can't  fool 
me,  sah.     I  sees  yer  laughin'  right  now  way  back  dar 
in  yo'  eyes.     You  ain't  gwine  let  'em  shoot  me.     I'se 

*  too  vallable  a  nigger  fer  dat.    I  wuz  worth  er  thousan' 
dollars  'fore  de  war.    I  sho'  oughter  be  wuth  two  thou 
san'  now.     What's  de  use  er  'stroyin'  er  good  piece 
er  property  lak  dat?     I  won't  be  no  good  ter  nobody 
ef  dey  shoots  me!" 

The  President  broke  down  at  last,  leaned  back  in 

438 


SUNSHINE   AND   STORM 

his   chair  and  laughed  with  every  muscle  of  his  long 
body.     Julius  joined  him  with  unction. 

When  the  laughter  died  away  the  tall  figure  bent 
over  his  desk  and  wrote  an  order  for  the  negro's 
release,  and  discharge  from  the  army. 

One  of  the  things  which  had  brought  the 
President  his  deepest  joy  in  the  victory  of 
Vicksburg  was  not  the  importance  of  "the  capture  of 
the  city  and  the  opening  of  the  Mississippi  so  much 
as  the  saving  of  U.  S.  Grant  as  a  commanding  Gen-* 
eral. 

From  the  capture  of  Fort  Donelson,  the  eyes  of  the 
Chief  Magistrate  had  been  fixed  on  this  quiet  fighter. 
And  then  came  the  disaster  to  his  army  at  Shiloh — the 
first  day's  fight  a  bloody  and  overwhelming  defeat — 
the  second  the  recovery  of  the  ground  lost  and  the 
death  of  Albert  Sydney  Johnston,  his  brilliant  Con 
federate  opponent. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  its  results,  the  battle  had 
been  a  crushing  disaster  to  the  South.  But  Grant 
had  lost  fourteen  thousand  men  in  the  two  days'  car 
nage  and  it  was  the  first  great  field  of  death  the  war 
had  produced.  McClellan  had  not  yet  met  Lee  before 
Richmond.  The  cry  against  Grant  was  furious  and 
practically  universal. 

Senator  Winter,  representing  the  demands  of  Con 
gress,  literally  stormed  the  White  House  for  weeks 
with  the  persistent  and  fierce  demand  for  Grant's 
removal. 

The  President   shook  his  head  doggedly: 

"I  can't  spare  this  man — he  fights !" 

The  Senator  submitted  the  proofs  that  Grant  was 
addicted  to  the  use  of  strong  drink  and  that  he  was 

439 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


under  the  influence  of  whiskey  on  the  first  day  of  the 
battle  of  Shiloh. 

In  vain  Winter  stormed  and  threatened  for  an  hour. 
The  President  was  adamant. 

He  didn't  know  Grant  personally.  But  he  had 
felt  the  grip  of  his  big  personality  on  the  men  under 
his  command  and  he  refused  to  let  him  go. 

He  turned  to  his  tormentor  at  last  with  a  quizzical 
look  in  his  eye: 

"You  know,  Winter,  that  reminds  me  of  a  little 
story " 

The  Senator  threw  up  both  hands  with  a  gesture 
of  rage.  He  knew  what  the  wily  diplomat  was  up  to. 

"I  won't  hear  it,  sir,"  he  growled.  "I  won't  hear  it. 
You  and  your  stories  are  sending  this  country  to  hell — 
it's  not  more  than  a  mile  from  there  now !" 

The  sombre  eyes  smiled  as  he  slowly   said: 

"I  believe  it  is  just  a  mile  from  here  to  the  Senate 
Chamber!" 

The  Senator  faced  him  a  moment  and  the  two  men 
looked  at  each  other  tense,  erect,  unyielding. 

"There  may  or  may  not  be  a  grain  of  truth  in  your 
statements,  Winter,"  the  quiet  voice  continued,  "but 
your  personal  animus  against  Grant  is  deeper.  He 
is  a  Democrat  married  to  a  Southern  woman,  and 
is  a  slave-holder.  You  can't  be  fair  to  him.  I  can, 
I  must  and  I  will.  I  am  the  President  of  all  the  people. 
The  Nation  needs  this  man.  I  will  not  allow  him  to 
be  crushed.  You  have  my  last  word." 

The  Senator  strode  to  the  door  in  silence  and  paused : 

"But  you  haven't  mine,  sir!" 

The  tall  figure  bowed  and  smiled. 

The  President  found  the  task  a  greater  one  than 
440 


SUNSHINE   AND    STORM 

he  had  dreamed.  So  furious  was  the  popular  outcry 
against  Grant,  so  dogged  and  persistent  was  the  de 
mand  for  his  removal  he  was  compelled  to  place  Gen 
eral  Halleck  in  nominal  command  of  the  district  in 
which  his  army  was  operating  until  the  popular  furor 
should  subside.  In  this  way  he  had  kept  Grant  as 
Second  in  Command  at  the  head  of  his  army,  and 
Vicksburg  with  thirty-five  thousand  prisoners  was  the 
answer  the  silent  man  in  the  West  had  sent  to  his  cham 
pion  and  protector  in  the  White  House. 

The  thrilling  message  had  come  at  an  opportune 
moment.  The  new  commander  of  the  army  of  the 
Potomac  had  defeated  General  Lee  at  Gettysburg  and 
for  an  hour  his  name  was  on  every  lip.  The  President 
and  the  Nation  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  he  would 
hurl  his  eighty-two  thousand  men  on  Lee's  army 
hemmed  in  by  the  impassable  Potomac. 

So  sure  of  this  was  Stanton  that  he  declared  to  the 
President : 

"If  a  single  regiment  of  Lee's  army  ever  gets  back 
into  Virginia  in  an  organized  condition  it  will  prove 
that  I  am  totally  unfit  to  be  Secretary  of  War." 

Once  more  the  impossible  happened.  Lee  did  get 
back  into  Virginia,  his  army  marching  with  quick  step 
and  undaunted  spirit,  ready  to  fight  at  any  moment 
his  rear  guard  came  in  touch  with  Meade's  advancing 
hosts.  He  not  only  crossed  the  Potomac  with  his  army 
in  perfect  fighting  form  with  every  gun  he  carried, 
but  with  thousands  of  fat  cattle  and  four  thousand 
prisoners  of  war  captured  on  the  field  of  Gettysburg. 

The  President's  day  of  rejoicing  was  brief.  As 
Lee  withdrew  to  his  old  battle  ground  with  his  still 
unconquered  lines  of  grey,  the  man  in  the  White  House 

441 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


saw  with  aching  heart  his  dream  of  peace  fade  into 
the  mists  of  even  a  darker  night  than  the  one  through 
which  his  soul  had  just  passed. 

Slowly  but  surely  the  desperate  South  began  to  re 
cover  from  the  shock  of  Gettysburg  and  Vicksburg 
and  filled  once  more  her  thinning  battle  lines.  Gen 
eral  Lee,  sorely  dissatisfied  with  himself  for  his  failure 
to  win  in  Pennsylvania,  tendered  his  resignation  to  the 
Richmond  Government,  asking  to  be  relieved  by  a 
younger  and  abler  man.  As  no  such  man  lived,  Jeffer 
son  Davis  declined  his  resignation,  and  he  continued 
his  leadership  with  renewed  faith  in  his  genius  by  every 
man,  woman  and  child  in  the  South. 

General  Meade,  stung  to  desperation  by  the  bitter 
disappointment  of  the  President  and  the  people  of  the 
North,  also  tendered  his  resignation. 

For  the  moment  the  President  refused  to  consider 
it,  though  his  eyes  were  fixed  with  growing  faith  on 
the  silent  figure  of  Grant.  One  more  victory  from  this 
stolid  fighter  and  he  had  found  the  great  commander 
for  which  he  had  sought  in  vain  through  blood  and 
tears  for  more  than  two  years. 

The  first  task  to  which  he  must  turn  his  immediate 
attention  was  the  filling  of  the  depleted  ranks  of  the 
Northern  armies.  Volunteering  had  ceased,  the  terms 
of  the  enlisted  men  would  soon  expire,  and  it  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  enforce  a  draft  for  five  hundred 
thousand  soldiers. 

The  President  had  been  warned  by  the  Democratic 
Party,  at  present  a  powerful  and  aggressive  minority 
in  Congress,  that  such  an  act  of  despotism  would  not 
be  tolerated  by  a  free  people. 

The  President's  answer  was  simple  and  to  the  point : 
442 


SUNSHINE  AND   STORM 

"The  South  has  long  since  adopted  force  to  fill  her 
ranks.  If  we  are  to  continue  this  war  and  save  the 
Union  it  is  absolutely  necessary,  and  therefore  it  shall 
be  done." 

The  great  city  of  New  York  was  the  danger  point.  *  * 
The  Government  had  been  warned  of  the  possibility  of 
a  revolution  in  the  metropolis,  whose  representatives 
in  Congress  had  demanded  the  right  to  secede  in  the 
beginning  of  the  war.  And  yet  the  warning  had  not 
been  taken  seriously  by  the  War  Department.  No 
effort  had  been  made  to  garrison  the  city  against  the 
possibility  of  an  armed  uprising  to  resist  the  draft. 
Demagogues  had  been  haranguing  the  people  for 
months,  inflaming  their  minds  to  the  point  of  madness 
on  the  subject  of  this  draft. 

On  the  night  before  the  drawing  was  ordered  in 
New  York  the  leading  speaker  had  swept  the  crowd 
off  their  feet  by  the  daring  words  with  which  he  closed 
his  appeal: 

"We  will  resist  this  attempt  of  Black  Republicans 
and  Abolitionists  to  force  the  children  of  the  poor  into  * 
the  ranks  they  dare  not  enter.  Will  you  give  any  more 
of  your  sons  to  be  food  for  vultures  on  the  hills  of 
Virginia?  Will  you  allow  them  to  be  torn  from  your 
firesides  and  driven  as  dumb  cattle  into  the  mouths 

of   Southern   cannon?      If  you   are   slaves,   yes, if 

you  are  freemen,  no !" 

When  the  lottery  wheel  began  to  turn  off  its  fatal 
names  at  the  Government  Draft  Office  at  the  corner 
of  Forty-sixth  Street  and  Third  Avenue  on  the  morn 
ing  of  July  14th,  a  sullen,  determined  mob  packed  the 
streets  in  front  of  the  building.  Among  them  stood 
hundreds  of  women  whose  husbands,  sons  and  brothers 

443 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


were  listed  on  the  spinning  wheel  of  black  fortune. 
Their  voices  were  higher  and  angrier  than  the  men's : 
"This  is  a  rich  man's  war — but  a  poor  man's 

fight — » 

"Yes,  if  you've  got  three  hundred  dollars  you  can 
hire  a  substitute  from  the  slums " 

"But  if  you  happen  to  be  a  working  man,  you  can 
stand  up  and  be  shot  for  these  cowards  and  sneaks !" 

"Down  with  the  draft!" 

"To  hell  with  the  hirelings  and  their  wheel!" 

"Smash  it " 

"Burn  the  building!" 

A  tough  from  the  East  Side  waved  his  hand  to  the 
crowd  of  frenzied  men  and  women: 

"Come   on,   boys, " 

With  a  single  mighty  impulse  the  mob  surged  toward 

the  doors,  and  through  them.     A  sound  of  smashing 

glass,   blows,   curses.      A  man   rushed  into   the   street 

holding  the  enrollment  books  above  his  head: 

^     "Here  are  your  names,  men — the  list  of  w_hite  jslaves  !" 

The  mob  tore  the  sheets  from  his  grasp  and  fell 
on  them  like  hungry  wolves.  In  ten  minutes  the  books 
were  only  scraps  of  paper  trampled  into  the  filth  of 
Third  Avenue.  Wherever  a  piece  could  be  seen  men 
and  women  stamped  and  spit  on  it. 

They  smashed  the  wheel  and  furniture  into  kindling 
wood,  piled  it  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  set  fire  to 
it.  No  policemen  or  firemen  were  allowed  to  approach. 
Every  officer  of  the  law,  both  civil  and  military,  had 
been  chased  and  beaten  and  disappeared. 

Half  the  block  was  in  flames  before  the  firemen  could 
break  through  and  reach  the  burning  buildings. 

Down   the  Avenue,   the  maddened  mob  swept   with 
444 


SUNSHINE   AND   STORM 

resistless  impulse,  yelling,  cursing,  shouting  its  de 
fiance. 

"Down  with  the  Abolitionists !" 

"Hang  Horace  Greeley  on  a  sour  apple  tree !" 

"To  the  Tribune  Office !" 

Howard,  a  reporter  of  the  Tribune,  was  recognized: 

"Kill  him!" 

"Hang  him!" 

The  mob  seized  the  reporter,  dragged  him  to  a  lamp 
post  and  were  about  to  put  the  rope  around  his  neck 
when  a  blow  from  a  cobblestone  felled  him  to  the  side 
walk,  the  blood  trickling  down  his  neck. 

A  man  bending  over  his  body,  shouted  to  the  crowd: 

"He's  dead — we'll  take  the  body  away!" 

A  friend  helped  and  they  carried  him  into  a  store 
and  saved  his  life. 

For  three  days  and  nights  this  mob  burned  and  killed 
at  will  and  fought  every  officer  of  the  law  until  the 
streets  ran  red  with  blood.  They  burned  the  Negro 
Orphan  Asylum,  beat,  killed  or  hanged  every  negro 
who  showed  his  face,  sacked  the  home  of  Mayor 
Opdyke,  at  79  Fifth  Avenue,  and  attempted  to  burn  it. 
They  smashed  in  the  Tribune  building,  gutted  part  of 
it  and  would  have  reduced  it  to  ashes  but  for  the  brave 
defense  put  up  by  some  of  its  men. 

On  the  third  day  the  announcement  was  made  that 
the  draft  was  suspended.  Five  thousand  troops 
reached  the  city  and  partly  succeeded  in  restoring 
order. 

More  than  a  thousand  men  had  been  killed  and  three 
thousand  wounded — among  them  many  women.  ? 

The  Democratic  papers  now  boldly  demanded  that 
the  draft  should  be  officially  suspended  until  its  oon- 

445 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


stitutionality  could  be  tested  by  the  courts.  The  State 
and  Municipal  authorities  of  New  York  appealed  to 
the  President  to  suspend  the  draft. 

He  answered: 

"If  I  suspend  the  draft  there  can  be  no  army  to 
continue  the  war  and  the  days  of  the  Republic  are  num 
bered.  The  life  of  the  Nation  is  at  stake.'9 

They  begged  for  time,  and  he  hesitated  for  a  day. 
The  victories  of  Gettysburg  and  Vicksburg  were  for 
gotten  in  the  grim  shadow  of  a  possible  repetition  of 
the  French  Revolution  on  a  vast  scale  throughout  the 
North.  The  mob  had  already  sacked  the  office  of  the 
Times  in  Troy,  broken  out  in  Boston,  and  threatened 
Cincinnati. 

The  President  gave  the  Governor  of  New  York  his 
final  answer  by  sending  an  army  of  ten  thousand  vet 
erans  into  the  city.  He  planted  his  artillery  to  sweep 
the  streets  with  grape  and  cannister,  and  ordered  the 
draft  to  be  immediately  enforced. 

The  new  wheel  was  set  up,  and  turned  with  bayonets. 
The  mobs  were  overawed  and  the  ranks  of  the  army 
were  refilled. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

BETWEEN    THE    LINES 

Betty  Winter  found  to  her  sorrow  that  the  memory 
of  a  dead  love  could  be  a  troublesome  thing.  Ned 
Vaughan's  tender  and  compelling  passion  had  been 
resistless  in  the  moonlight  beneath  a  fragrant  apple 
tree  with  the  old  mill  wheel  splashing  its  music  at  their 
feet.  She  had  returned  to  her  cot  in  the  hospital  that 
night  in  a  glow  of  quiet,  peaceful  joy.  Life's  problem 
had  been  solved  at  last  in  the  sweet  peace  of  a  tender 
and  beautiful  spiritual  love — the  only  love  that  could 
be  real. 

All  this  was  plain,  while  the  glow  of  Ned's  words 
were  in  her  heart  and  the  memory  of  his  nearness  alive 
in  the  fingers  and  lips  he  had  kissed.  And  then  to  her 
terror  came  stealing  back  the  torturing  vision  of  his 
brother.  Why,  why,  why  could  she  never  shut  out  the 
memory  of  this  man! 

Over  and  over  again  she  repeated  the  angry  final 
word: 

"He  isn't  worth  a  moment's  thought !" 

And  yet  she  kept  on  thinking,  thinking,  always  in 
the  same  blind  circle.  At  last  came  the  new  resolution, 

"Worthy  or  unworthy,  I've  given  my  word  to  a  bet 
ter  man  and  that  settles  it." 

The  fight  had  become  in  her  inflamed  imagination 
the  struggle  between  good  and  evil.  The  younger  man 

447 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


with  his  chivalrous  boyish  ideals  was  God,  Love,  Light. 
The  older  with  his  iron  will,  his  fierce  ungovernable 
passion,  was  the  Devil,  Lust  and  Darkness.  She  trem 
bled  with  new  terror  at  the  discovery  that  there  was 
something  elemental  deep  within  her  own  life  that 
answered  the  challenge  of  this  older  voice  with  a  strange 
joyous  daring. 

She  had  just  risen  from  her  knees  where  she  had 
prayed  for  strength  to  fight  and  win  this  battle  when 
the  maid  knocked  on  her  door.  She  had  left  the  hos 
pital  and  returned  home  for  a  week's  rest,  tottering 
on  the  verge  of  a  nervous  collapse  since  her  return 
from  the  meeting  with  Ned. 

"A  letter,  Miss  Betty,"  the  maid  said  with  a  smile. 

She  tore  the  envelope  with  nervous  dread.  It  bore 
no  postmark  and  was  addressed  in  a  strange  hand. 

Inside  was  another  envelope  in  Ned's  handwriting, 
and  around  it  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  was  scrawled, 

"DEAR  Miss  WINTER:  The  bearer  of  this  letter  is  a 
trusted  spy  of  both  Governments.  I  have  friends  in 
Washington  and  in  Richmond.  In  Richmond  I  am  sup 
posed  to  betray  the  Washington  Government.  In  Wash 
ington  it  is  known  that  I  am  at  heart  loyal  to  the  Union, 
and  all  my  correspondence  from  Richmond  to  the  Confed 
erate  agents  in  Canada  and  the  Nor.th  I  deliver  to  the 
President  and  Stanton.  This  one  is  an  exception.  I  hap 
pened  to  have  met  Mr.  Ned  Vaughan  and  like  him.  I  de 
liver  this  letter  to  you  unopened  by  any  hand.  I've  a 
sweetheart  myself." 

With  a  cry  of  joy,  Betty  broke  the  seal  and  read 
Ned's  message.  It  was  written  just  after  the  battle  of 
Gettysburg. 

448 


BETWEEN   THE   LINES 

"DEAREST:  I  am  writing  to  you  to-night  because  I 
must — though  this  may  never  reach  you.  The  whole  look 
of  war  has  changed  for  me  since  that  wonderful  hour  we 
spent  in  the  moonlight  beside  the  river  and  you  promised 
me  your  life.  It's  all  a  pitiful  tragedy  now,  and  love, 
love,  love  seems  the  only  thing  in  all  God's  universe  worth 
while!  I  don't  wish  to  kill  any  more.  It  hurts  the  big 
something  inside  that's  divine.  I'm  surprised  at  myself 
that  I  can't  see  the  issues  of  National  life  as  I  saw  them 
at  first.  Somehow  they  have  become  dwarfed  beside  the 
new  wonder  and  glory  that  fills  my  heart.  And  now  like 
a  poor  traitor,  I  am  praying  for  peace,  peace  at  any  price. 
Oh,  dearest,  you  have  brought  me  to  this.  I  love  you  so 
utterly  with  every  breath  I  breathe,  every  thought  of 
mind  and  every  impulse  of  soul  and  body,  how  can  I  see 
aught  else  in  the  world? 

"In  every  scene  of  these  three  days  of  horror  through 
which  we've  just  passed,  my  thought  was  of  you.  The 
signal  gun  that  called  the  men  to  die  boomed  your  name 
for  me.  I  heard  it  in  the  din  and  roar  and  crash  of 
armies.  The  louder  came  the  call  of  death,  the  sweeter 
life  seemed  because  life  meant  you.  Life  has  taken  on  a 
new  and  wonderful  meaning.  I  love  it  as  I  never  loved  it 
before  and  I've  grown  to  hate  death  and  I  whisper  it  to 
you,  my  love,  my  own — to  hate  war!  I  want  to  live  now, 
and  I'm  praying,  praying,  praying  for  peace.  My  mind 
is  yet  clear  in  its  conviction  of  right  or  I  could  not  stay 
here  a  moment  longer.  But  I'm  longing  and  hoping  and 
wondering  whether  God  will  not  show  us  the  way  out  of 
your  tragic  dilemma. 

"During  the  battle  I  found  a  handsome  young  Federal 
officer  who  had  fallen  inside  our  lines.  With  his  last 
strength  he  was  trying  to  write  a  message  to  his  bride 
who  was  waiting  for  him  behind  the  Union  lines.  I 
couldn't  pass  by.  I  stopped  and  got  his  name,  gave  him 
water  and  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible.  I  got 

449 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


permission  from  my  General  while  the  battle  raged  and 
sent  his  message  with  a  flag  of  truce  to  his  wife.  She 
came  flying  to  his  side  at  the  risk  of  her  life,  got  to  the 
rear  and  saved  him.  Perhaps  I  wasn't  an  ideal  soldier  in 
that  pause  in  my  fight.  But  I  had  to  do  it,  dearest.  It 
was  your  sweet  spirit  that  stopped  me  and  sent  the  white 
flag  of  love  and  mercy. 

"And  the  strangest  of  all  the  things  of  the  war  hap 
pened  that  night.  I  spent  six  hours  among  the  wounded, 
helping  the  poor  boys  all  I  could — both  blue  and  grey — 
and  I  suddenly  ran  into  John  at  the  same  pitiful  work. 
It's  curious  how  all  the  bitterness  is  gone  out  of  my  heart. 

"I  grabbed  him  and  hugged  him,  and  we  both  cried  like 
two  fools.  We  sat  down  between  the  lines  in  the  brilliant 
moonlight  and  talked  for  an  hour.  I  told  him  of  you, 
dearest,  and  he  wished  me  all  the  happiness  life  could 
give,  but  with  a  queer  hitch  in  his  voice,  and  after  a  long 
silence,  which  made  me  wonder  if  he,  too,  had  not  been 
loving  you  in  secret.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  every  man 
who  sees  you  loves  you.  The  wonder  to  me  is  they  don't. 

"Our  band  is  playing  an  old-fashioned  Southern  song 
that  sets  my  heart  to  beating  with  joyous  madness  again. 
I'm  dreaming  through  that  song  of  the  home  I'm  going 
to  build  for  you  somewhere  in  the  land  of  sunshine.  Don't 
worry  about  me.  I'm  not  going  to  die.  I  know  I'm  im 
mortal  now.  I  had  faith  once.  Now  I  know — because  I 
love  you  and  time  is  too  short  to  tell  and  all  too  short  to 
live  my  love.  "NED." 

She  read  it  over  twice  through  eyes  that  grew  dim 
with  each  foolish,  sweet  extravagance.  And  then  she 
went  back  and  read  for  the  third  time  the  line  about 
John,  threw  herself  across  her  bed  and  burst  into 
tears. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

THE    WHIRLWIND 

The  draft  of  half  a  million  men  was  scarcely  com 
pleted  when  Rosecrans'  Western  army,  advancing  into 
Georgia,  met  with  crushing  defeat  at  Chickamauga, 
"The  River  of  Death."  His  shattered  hosts  were 
driven  back  into  Chattanooga  with  the  loss  of  eighteen 
thousand  men  in  a  rout  so  complete  and  stunning  that 
Charles  A.  Dana,  the  Assistant  Secretary  of  War, 
telegraphed  the  President  from  the  front  that  it  was 
another  "Bull  Run." 

Rosecrans  himself  wired  that  he  had  met  with  a 
terrible  disaster.  The  White  House  sent  him  words  of 
cheer.  The  Confederate  Commander,  General  Bragg, 
rapidly  closed  in  and  began  to  lay  seige  to  Chatta 
nooga,  and  the  defeated  Federal  army  were  put  on 
short  rations. 

The  President  turned  his  eyes  now  from  Meade  and 
his  army  of  the  Potomac  which  Lee's  strategy  had 
completely  baffled  and  gave  his  first  thought  to  the 
armies  of  the  West.  He  sent  Sherman  hurrying  from 
the  Mississippi  to  Rosecrans'  relief  and  Hooker  from 
the  East.  In  the  place  of  Rosecrans  he  promoted 
George  H.  Thomas,  whose  gallant  stand  had  saved  the 
army  from  annihilation  and  won  the  title,  "The  Rock 
of  Chickamauga."  And  most  important  of  all  he  placed 
in  supreme  command  of  the  forces  in  Tennessee  the 

451 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


silent  man  whom  his  patience  and  faith  had  saved  to 
the  Nation,  the  conqueror  of  Vicksburg — Ulysses  S. 
Grant. 

On  November  the  24th  and  25th,  the  new  Com 
mander  raised  the  siege  of  Chattanooga,  and  drove 
Bragg's  army  from  Missionary  Ridge  and  Lookout 
Mountain  back  into  Georgia. 

At  last  the  President  had  found  the  man  of  genius 
for  whom  he  had  long  searched.  Grant  was  sum 
moned  to  Washington  and  given  command  of  all  the 
armies  of  the  United  States  East  and  West. 

The  new  General  at  once  placed  William  Tecumseh 
Sherman  at  the  head  of  an  army  of  a  hundred  thou 
sand  men  at  Chattanooga  for  the  purpose  of  reinvad- 
ing  Georgia,  sent  General  Butler  with  forty  thousand 
up  the  Peninsula  against  Richmond  along  the  line  of 
McClellan's  old  march,  raised  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
to  one  hundred  and  forty  thousand  effective  fighters, 
took  command  in  person  and  faced  General  Lee  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rapidan  but  a  few  miles  from  the  old 
ground  in  the  Wilderness  around  Chancellorsville 
where  Hooker's  men  had  baptized  the  earth  in  heroic 
blood  the  year  before. 

Grant's  army  was  the  flower  of  Northern  manhood 
and  with  its  three  hundred  and  eighteen  great  field 
guns  the  best  equipped  body  of  fighting  men  ever 
brought  together  on  our  continent.  His  baggage  train 
was  over  sixty  miles  long  and  would  have  stretched  the 
entire  distance  to  Richmond. 

By  the  spring  of  1864  when  he  reached  the  Rapidan 
Lee's  army  had  been  recruited  again  to  its  normal 
strength  of  sixty-two  thousand. 

A  great  religious  revival  swept  the  Southern  camps 
452 


THE    WHIRLWIND 


during  the  winter  and  its  meetings  lasted  into  the 
spring  almost  to  the  hour  of  the  opening  guns  of  the 
Wilderness  campaign.  Had  whispers  from  the  Infinite 
reached  the  souls  of  the  ragged  men  in  grey  and  told 
them  of  coming  Gethsemane  and  Calvary? 

Certain  it  is  that  though  Lee's  army  were  ragged 
and  poorly  fed  their  courage  was  never  higher,  their 
faith  in  their  Commander  never  more  sublime  than  in 
those  beautiful  spring  mornings  in  April  when  they 
burnished  their  bayonets  to  receive  Grant's  overwhelm 
ing  host. 

The  Chaplain  of  Ned  Vaughan's  regiment  was  lead 
ing  a  prayer  meeting  in  the  moonlight.  An  earnest 
brother  was  praying  fervently  for  more  manhood,  and 
more  courage. 

A  ragged  Confederate  kneeling  nearby  didn't  like 
the  drift  of  his  petition  and  his  patience  gave  out. 
He  raised  his  head  and  called. 

"Say,  hold  on  there,  brother !  You're  getting  that 
prayer  all  wrong.  We  don't  need  no  more  courage — 
got  so  much  now  we're  skeered  of  ourselves  some 
times.  What  we  need  is  provisions.  Ask  the  Lord 
to  send  us  something  to  eat.  That's  what  we  want 
now " 

The  leader  took  the  interruption  in  good  spirit  and 
added  an  eloquent  request  for  at  least  one  good  meal 
a  day  if  the  Lord  in  his  goodness  and  mercy  could 
spare  it. 

No  persimmon  tree  was  ever  stripped  without  the 
repetition  of  their  old  joke.  They  all  knew  the  words 
by  heart, 

"Don't  eat  those  persimmons — they're  not  good  for 


you !" 


453 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"I  know  it,  man,  I'm  just  doin'  it  to  pucker  my 
stomach  to  fit  my  rations!" 

Ned  was  passing  the  door  of  a  cabin  in  which  a 
prayer  meeting  of  officers  was  being  held.  He  was 
walking  with  his  Colonel  who  was  fond  of  a  sip  of 
corn  whiskey  at  times.  He  was  slightly  deaf. 

The  leader  of  the  meeting  called  from  the  door: 

"Won't  you  join  us  in  prayer,  Colonel?" 

"Thank  you,  no,  I've  just  had  a  little!"  he  answered 
innocently. 

Ned  roared  and  the  brethren  inside  the  cabin  joined 
the  laugh. 

No  body  of  men  of  any  race  ever  marched  to  death 
with  calmer  faith  than  those  ragged  lines  of  grey 
now  girding  their  loins  for  the  fiercest,  bloodiest  strug 
gle  in  the  annals  of  the  world. 

Lee  allowed  Grant  to  cross  the  Rapidan  unopposed 
and  penetrate  the  tangled  wilds  of  the  Wilderness. 
The  Southerner  knew  that  in  these  dense  woods  the 
effectiveness  of  his  opponent's  superior  numbers 
would  be  vastly  reduced.  Longstreet's  corps  had  not 
yet  arrived  from  Gordonsville  where  he  had  been  sent 
to  obtain  food,  and  he  must  concentrate  his  forces. 

The  days  were  oppressively  hot,  as  the  men  in  blue 
tramped  through  the  forest  aisles  of  the  vast  Vir 
ginia  jungle — a  maze  of  trees,  underbrush  and  dense 
foliage.  A  pall  of  ominous  silence  hung  over  this 
labyrinth  of  desolation,  broken  only  by  the  chirp 
of  bluebird  or  the  distant  call  of  the  yellowhammer. 

Not  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  Longstreet  on  his 
forced  march  from  Gordonsville,  Lee  suddenly  threw 
the  half  of  his  army  on  Grant's  advancing  men  with 
savage  energy.  Their  march  was  halted  and  through 

454 


THE    WHIRLWIND 


every  hour  of  the  day  and  far  into  the  night  the  fierce 
conflict  raged.  As  darkness  fell  the  Confederates  had 
pushed  the  blue  lines  back,  captured  four  guns  and 
a  number  of  prisoners. 

But  Longstreet  had  not  come  and  Lee's  army  of 
barely  forty  thousand  men  were  in  a  dangerous  posi 
tion  before  Grant's  legions. 

Both  Generals  renewed  the  fight  at  daylight.  The 
Federals  attacked  Lee's  entire  line  with  terrific  force. 
Just  as  the  Confederate  right  wing  was  being  crushed 
and  rolled  back  in  disorder,  Longstreet  reached  the 
field  and  threw  his  men  into  the  breach.  Lee  himself 
rode  to  the  front  to  lead  the  charge  and  reestablish 
his  yielding  lines. 

From  a  thousand  throats  rose  the  cry: 

"Lee  to  the  rear!" 

"Go  back,  General  Lee!" 

"This  is  no  place  for  you !" 

"We'll  settle  this !" 

The  men  refused  to  move  until  their  Commander  had 
withdrawn.  And  then  with  their  fierce  yell  they 
charged  and  swept  the  field. 

Lee  repeated  the  brilliant  achievement  of  Jackson 
at  Chancellorsville.  Longstreet  was  sent  around  Han 
cock's  left  to  turn  and  assail  his  flank.  The  movement 
was  a  complete  success.  Hancock's  line  was  smashed 
and  driven  back  a  mile  to  his  second  defenses. 

General  Wadsworth  at  the  head  of  his  division  was 
mortally  wounded  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  on- 
sweeping  Confederates.  Just  as  the  movement  had 
reached  the  moments  of  its  triumph  which  would  have 
crumpled  Grant's  army  in  confusion  back  on  the  banks 
of  the  river,  Longstreet  fell  dangerously  wounded, 

455 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


struck  down  by  a  volley  from  his  own  men  in  exactly 
the  same  way  and  almost  in  the  same  spot  where  Jack 
son  had  fallen.  General  Jenkins,  who  was  with  him, 
was  instantly  killed. 

The  charging  hosts  were  halted  by  the  change  of 
Commanders  and  the  movement  failed  of  its  big  pur 
pose,  though  at  sunset  General  John  B.  Gordon  broke 
through  Sedgwick's  Union  lines,  rolled  back  his  right 
flank,  drove  him  a  mile  from  his  entrenchments  and 
captured  six  hundred  prisoners  with  two  brigadier 
generals. 

The  mysterious  fate  which  had  pursued  the  South 
had  once  more  stricken  down  a  great  commander  in 
the  moment  of  victory,  and  snatched  it  from  his  grasp 
— at  Shiloh,  Albert  Sydney  Johnston;  at  Seven 
Pines,  Joseph  E.  Johnston;  at  Chancellorsville,  Jack 
son,  and  now  Longstreet. 

Grant  in  two  days  lost  seventeen  thousand  six  hun 
dred  and  sixty-six  men,  a  larger  number  than  fell  un 
der  Hooker  when  he  had  retreated  in  despair.  Any 
other  General  than  Grant,  the  stolid  bulldog  fighter, 
would  have  retreated  across  the  Rapidan  to  reorganize 
his  bleeding  lines. 

As  one  of  his  Generals  rode  up  the  following  morn 
ing  out  of  the  confusion  and  horror  of  the  night, 
Grant,  chewing  on  his  cigar,  waved  his  right  arm 
with  a  quick  movement: 

"It's  all  right,  Wilson;   we'll  fight  again!" 

Next  day  the  two  armies  lay  in  their  trenches 
facing  each  other  in  grim  silence.  Grant  determined 
again  to  turn  Lee's  right  flank  and  get  between  him 
and  Richmond. 

Lee   divined   his   purpose   before   a   single   regiment 

456 


THE    WHIRLWIND 


had  begun  to  march.  Spottsylvania  Court  House 
lay  on  his  right.  The  Confederate  Commander  hur 
ried  his  advance  guard  to  the  spot  and  lay  in  wait 
for  his  opponent. 

The  day  of  the  19th  was  spent  by  both  armies  in 
adjusting  lines  and  constructing  breastworks.  These 
fortifications  were  made  by  digging  huge  ditches  and 
on  the  top  of  their  banks  fastening  heavy  logs.  In 
front  of  these,  abatis  were  made  by  filling  the  trees 
and  cutting  their  limbs  in  such  a  way  that  the  sharp 
spikes  projected  toward  the  breasts  of  the  advancing 
foe. 

While  placing  his  guns  in  position  General  Sedg- 
wick  was  killed  by  a  sharpshooter's  bullet — a  com 
mander  of  high  character  and  fearless  courage  and 
loved  by  every  man  in  his  army. 

On  the  morning  of  the  10th  Hancock  attempted  to 
turn  Lee's  rear  by  crossing  the  Po.  The  movement 
failed  and  he  was  recalled  with  heavy  losses  under 
Early's  assault  as  he  recrossed  the  river. 

Warren  led  his  division  in  a  determined  charge  on 
the  Confederate  front  and  they  were  mowed  down  in 
hundreds  by  Longstreet's  men  behind  their  entrench 
ments.  They  reached  the  abatis  and  one  man  leaped 
on  the  breastworks  before  they  fell  back  in  bloody  con 
fusion.  General  Rice  was  mortally  wounded  in  this 
charge. 

On  the  left  of  Warren,  Colonel  Emory  Upton 
charged  and  broke  through  the  Confederate  lines  cap 
turing  twelve  hundred  prisoners,  but  was  driven  back 
at  last  with  the  loss  of  a  thousand  of  his  men.  Grant 
made  him  a  Brigadier  General  on  the  field. 

The  first  day  at  Spottsylvania  ended  with  a  loss  of 
457 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


four  thousand  Union  men.  Lee's  losses  were  less  than 
half  that  number. 

The  llth  they  paused  for  breath,  and  Grant  sent 
his  famous  dispatch  to  Washington: 

"I  propose  to  fight  it  out  on  this  line  if  it  takes 
all  summer." 

On  the  morning  of  the  12th  Hancock  was  ordered 
to  charge  at  daylight.  Lee's  lines  were  spread  out  in 
the  shape  of  an  enormous  letter  V.  Hancock's  task 
was  to  capture  the  angle  which  formed  the  key  to 
this  position. 

In  pitch  darkness  under  pouring  rain  his  four  di 
visions  under  Birney,  Mott,  Barlow  and  Gibbon  slipped 
through  the  mud  and  crept  into  position  within  a 
few  hundred  yards  of  the  Confederate  breastworks. 

As  the  first  streaks  of  dawn  pierced  the  murky 
clouds,  without  a  shot,  the  solid,  silent  lines  of  blue 
rushed  this  angle  and  leaped  into  the  entrenchments 
before  the  astounded  men  in  grey  knew  what  had 
happened. 

So  swift  was  the  blow,  so  surprising,  so  overwhelm 
ing  in  numbers,  the  angle  was  captured  practically 
without  a  struggle  and  the  three  thousand  men  within 
it  were  forced  to  surrender  with  every  cannon,  their 
muskets,  colors  and  two  Generals.  It  was  the  most 
brilliant  single  achievement  of  "Hancock  the  Superb." 

Pressing  on,  Hancock's  men  advanced  against  the 
second  series  of  trenches  a  half  mile  beyond.  Here 
the  fight  really  began. 

Into  their  faces  poured  a  terrific  volley  of  musketry 
and  General  John  B.  Gordon  led  his  men  in  a  desperate 
charge  to  drive  the  invaders  back. 

Lee,   seeing   the   dangerous    situation,    rode   to   the 

458 


THE    WHIRLWIND 


front  with  the  evident  intention  of  joining  in  this 
charge. 

Again  the  cry  rang  from  the  hearts  of  the  men 
who  loved  him: 

"Lee  to  the  rear!" 

They  refused  to  move  until  he  was  led  out  of  range 
of  the  fire.  Gordon's  men  charged  and  drove  the 
Federal  hosts  back  until  at  last  they  stood  against  the 
entrenchments  they  had  captured.  Reinforcements  now 
poured  in  from  both  sides  and  the  fighting  became 
indescribable  in  its  mad  desperation.  Thousands  of 
men  in  blue  and  men  in  grey  fought  face  to  face  and 
hand  to  hand.  Muskets  blazed  in  one  another's  eyes 
and  blew  heads  off.  The  dead  were  piled  in  rows  four 
and  five  deep,  blue  and  grey  locked  in  each  other's 
arms.  The  trenches  were  filled  with  the  dead  and 
cleared  of  bodies  again  and  again  to  make  room  for  the 
living  until  they  in  turn  were  thrown  out. 

Ned  Vaughan  saw  a  grey  color-bearer's  arm  shot 
away  at  the  shoulder,  the  quivering  flesh  smeared  with 
mud,  stained  with  powder  and  filled  with  the  shreds  of 
his  grey  sleeve — and  yet,  without  blenching,  he  grasped 
his  colors  with  the  other  hand  and  swept  on  into  the 
jaws  of  this  flaming  hell  at  the  head  of  his  men.  The 
rain  of  musketry  fire  against  the  trees  came  to  Ned's 
ears  in  low  undertone  like  the  rattle  of  myriads  of  hail 
stones  on  the  roof  of  a  house. 

A  grey  soldier  was  fighting  a  duel  to  the  death  with 
a  magnificently  dressed  officer  in  blue,  bare  bayonet 
against  bare  sword.  The  soldier,  with  a  sudden  plunge, 
ran  his  opponent  through.  With  a  shudder,  Ned 
looked  to  see  if  it  were  John. 

A  company  of  men  in  blue  were  caught  and  cut  off 
459 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


by  a  grey  wave  and  were  trying  to  surrender.  Their 
officers  with  drawn  revolvers  refused  to  let  them. 

"Shoot  your  officers!"  a  grey  man  shouted.  In  a 
moment  every  Commander  dropped  and  the  men  were 
marched  to  the  rear. 

Hour  after  hour  the  flames  of  hell  swirled  in  an 
endless  whirlwind  around  this  "Bloody  Angle."  Battle 
line  after  battle  line  rushed  in  never  to  return.  Ned 
saw  an  oak  tree  two  feet  in  diameter  gnawed  down 
by  musket  balls.  It  fell  with  a  crash,  killing  and 
wounding  a  number  of  men. 

Color-bearers  waved  their  flags  in  each  other's  faces, 
clinched  and  fought  like  demons.  Two  soldiers,  their 
ammunition  spent,  choked  each  other  to  death  on  top 
of  the  entrenchment  and  rolled  down  its  banks  among 
the  torn  and  mangled  bodies  that  filled  the  ditch. 

In  the  edge  of  this  red  whirlwind  Ned  Vaughan  saw 
a  grim  man  in  grey  standing  beside  a  tree  using  two 
guns.  His  wounded  comrade  loaded  one  while  he 
took  deliberate  aim  and  fired  the  other.  With  each 
crack  of  his  musket  a  man  in  blue  was  falling. 

In  the  centre  of  this  mass  of  struggling  maniacs 
the  men  were  fighting  with  gun  swabs,  handspikes, 
clubbed  muskets,  stones  and  fists. 

The  night  brought  no  rest,  no  pause  to  succor  the 
wounded  or  bury  the  dead.  Through  the  black  murk 
of  the  darkness  they  fought  on  and  on  until  at  last 
the  men  who  were  living  sank  in  their  tracks  at  three 
o'clock  before  day  and  neither  line  had  given  from  this 
"Bloody  Angle." 

The  rain  ceased  to  fall,  the  clouds  lifted  and  the 
waning  moon  came  out. 

Ned  Vaughan  passing  over  the  outer  field  saw  a 
460 


THE    WHIRLWIND 


long  line  of  men  lying  in  regular  ranks  in  an  odd  posi 
tion.     He  turned  to  the  Commander. 

"Why  don't  you  move  that  line  of  battle  now  to 
make  it  conform  to  your  own?" 

"They're  all  dead  men,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "They 
are  Georgia  soldiers." 

John  Vaughan,  on  the  other  side,  crossing  an  open 
space,  came  on  a  blue  battle  line  asleep  rank  on  rank, 
skirmishers  in  front  and  battle  line  behind,  all  asleep 
on  their  arms.  There  was  no  one  near  to  answer 
a  question.  They  were  all  dead. 

The  blue  and  grey  men  were  talking  to  one  another 
now. 

"Well,  Johnnie,"  a  Yankee  called  through  the 
shadows,  "I  can't  admit  that  you're  inspired  of  God, 
but  after  to-day  I  must  say  that  you  are  possessed  of 
the  devil." 

"Same  to  you,  Yank!  Your  papers  say  we're  all 
demoralized  anyhow — so  to-morrow  you  oughtn't  have 
no  trouble  fmishin'  us!" 

"Ah,  shut  up  now,  Johnnie,  and  go  to  sleep!" 

"All  right,  good-night,  Yank,  hope  ye'll  rest  well. 
We'll  give  ye  hell  at  daylight !" 

For  five  days  Grant  swung  his  blue  lines  in  circles 
of  blood  trying  in  vain  to  break  Lee's  ranks  and  gave 
it  up.  He  had  lost  at  Spottsylvania  eighteen  thousand 
more  men.  The  stolid,  silent  man  of  iron  nerves  was 
terribly  moved  by  the  frightful  losses  his  gallant  army 
had  sustained.  He  watched  with  anguish  the  endless 
lines  of  wagons  bearing  his  stricken  men  from  the  field. 
Lee's  forces  had  been  handled  with  such  consummate 
and  terrible  skill,  his  crushing  numbers  had  made  little 
impression. 

461 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Grant  was  facing  a  new  force  in  the  world.  The 
ordinary  methods  of  war  which  he  had  used  with  suc 
cess  in  the  West  went  here  for  nothing.  The  devo 
tion  of  Lee's  men  was  a  mania.  Small  as  his  army 
was  the  bulldog  fighter  saw  with  amazement  that  it 
was  practically  unconquerable  in  a  square,  hand-to- 
hand  struggle. 

Once  more  he  was  forced  to  maneuver  for  advantage 
in  position.  He  ordered  a  new  flank  movement  by 
the  North  Anna  River. 

He  had  opened  his  fight  with  Lee  on  the  5th,  and  in 
two  weeks  he  had  lost  thirty-six  thousand  men,  without 
gaining  an  inch  in  the  execution  of  his  original  plan  of 
thrusting  himself  between  the  Confederate  leader  and 
his  Capital.  Lee's  army  was  apparently  as  terrible  a 
fighting  machine  as  on  the  day  they  had  met. 

A  truce  now  followed  to  bury  the  dead  and  care  for 
the  wounded.  So  sure  had  Grant  been  of  crushing 
his  opponent  he  had  refused  to  agree  to  this  during 
the  struggle. 

They  found  them  piled  six  layers  deep  in  the  trenches, 
blue  and  grey,  blue  and  grey.  Black  wings  were 
spread  over  the  top  with  red  beaks  tearing  at  eyes 
and  lips  while  deep  down  below,  yet  groaned  and  moved 
the  living  wounded. 

God  of  Love  and  Pity,  draw  the  veil  over  the  scene ! 
No  pen  can  tell  its  story — no  heart  endure  to  hear  it. 

The  stop  was  brief.  Already  the  cavalry  were  skir 
mishing  for  the  next  position. 

Again  the  keen  eye  of  Lee  had  divined  his  enemy's 
purpose.  By  a  shorter  road  his  men  had  reached  the 
North  Anna  before  Grant.  When  the  Union  leader 
arrived  on  the  scene  he  found  the  position  of  his  ad- 

462 


THE    WHIRLWIND 


vance  division  dangerous  and  quickly  withdrew  with  the 
loss  of  two  thousand  men. 

Once  more  he  determined  to  turn  Lee's  flank  and 
hurled  his  army  toward  Cold  Harbor.  This  time  he 
reached  his  chosen  ground  before  his  opponent  and 
on  the  31st,  Sheridan's  cavalry  took  possession  of  the 
place.  The  two  armies  had  rushed  for  this  point  in 
waving  parallel  lines,  flashing  at  each  other  death- 
dealing  volleys  as  they  touched. 

Both  armies  immediately  began  to  entrench  in  their 
chosen  positions.  Lee,  familiar  with  his  ground,  had 
chosen  his  position  with  consummate  skill.  On  June 
the  1st,  the  preliminary  attack  was  made  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  short  and  bloody. 
The  Northern  division  under  Smith  and  Wright 
charged  and  lost  two  thousand  two  hundred  men  in 
an  hour. 

Again  Lee  had  placed  his  guns  and  infantry  in  a 
fiery  crescent  on  the  hills  arranged  to  catch  both  flanks 
and  front  of  an  advancing  army. 

Grant's  soldiers  knew  that  grim  work  had  been  cut 
out  for  them  on  that  fatal  morning  the  third  day  of 
June.  As  John  Vaughan  walked  along  the  lines  the 
night  before  he  saw  thousands  of  silent  men  busy 
with  their  needle  and  thread  sewing  their  names  on 
their  underclothing. 

The  hot,  close  weather  of  the  preceding  days  had 
ended  in  a  grateful  rain  at  five  o'clock,  which  continued 
through  the  night  and  brought  the  tired,  suffering  men 
gracious  relief. 

Grant  decided  to  assault  the  whole  Confederate  front 
and  gave  his  orders  for  the  attack  at  the  first  streak 
of  dawn  at  four-thirty. 

463 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  charging  blue  hosts  literally  walked  into  the 
crater  of  a  volcano  flaming  in  their  faces  and  pouring 
tons  of  steel  and  lead  into  their  stricken  flanks.  Noth 
ing  like  it  had  ever  before  been  seen  in  the  history  of 
*  war. 

Ten  thousand  men  in  blue  fell  in  twenty  minutes! 

The  battle  was  practically  over  at  half  past  seven 
o'clock. 

General  Smith  received  an  order  from  Meade  to 
renew  the  assault  and  flatly  refused. 

The  scene  which  followed  has  no  parallel  in  the  rec 
ords  of  human  suffering.  Its  horror  is  inconceivable 
and  unthinkable.  Through  the  summer  nights  the 
shrieks  and  groans  of  the  wounded  and  dying  rose  in 
pitiful  endless  waves.  And  no  hand  was  lifted  to  save. 
For  three  days  they  lay  begging  for  water,  groaning 
and  dying  where  they  had  fallen.  It  was  certain 
death  to  venture  in  that  storm-swept  space.  Only  a 
few  brave  men  fought  their  way  through  to  rescue 
a  fallen  comrade. 

It  was  not  until  the  7th  that  a  truce  was  arranged 
to  clear  this  shamble  and  then  every  man  in  blue  was 
dead  save  two.  Everywhere  blood,  blood,  blood  in  dark 
slippery  pools — dead  horses — dead  men — smashed 
guns,  legs,  arms,  torn  and  mangled  pieces  of  bodies — 
the  earth  plowed  with  shot  and  shell. 

Thirty  days  had  passed  since  Grant  met  Lee  in  the 
tangled  Wilderness  and  the  Northern  army  had  lost 
sixty  thousand  men,  two  thousand  a  day. 

It  is  small  wonder  that  he  decided  not  to  try  longer 
"to  fight  it  out  on  that  line." 

Lee  had  put  out  of  combat  as  many  men  for  his 
opponent  as  he  had  under  his  command  at  any  time 

464 


THE    WHIRLWIND 


and  his  army  with  the  reinforcements  he  had  received  \ 
was  now  as  strong  as  the  day  he  met  Grant. 

For  twelve  days  the  two  armies  lay  in  their  en 
trenchments  on  this  field  of  death  while  the  Federal 
Commander  arranged  a  new  plan  of  campaign.  The 
sharpshooting  was  incessant.  No  man  in  all  the  line 
of  blue  could  stand  erect  and  live  an  instant.  Soldiers 
whose  time  of  service  had  expired  and  were  ordered 
home,  had  to  crawl  on  their  hands  and  knees  through 
the  trenches  to  the  rear. 

The  new  Commander,  on  whose  genius  the  President 
and  the  people  had  planted  their  brightest  hopes, 
had  just  reached  the  spot  where  McClellan  stood  in 
June,  1862.  And  he  might  have  gotten  there  by  the 
James  under  cover  of  his  gunboats  without  the  loss 
of  a  single  life. 

Again  John  Vaughan's  memory  turned  to  McClellan 
with  desperate  bitterness.  The  longer  he  brooded 
over  the  hideous  scenes  of  the  past  month,  the  higher 
rose  his  blind  rage  against  the  President. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

THE    BROTHERS    MEET 

When  Julius,  who  had  returned  to  John  Vaughan's 
service,  saw  those  piles  of  dead  men  on  the  field  of 
Cold  Harbor  he  lost  faith  in  the  Union  Cause.  He 
made  up  his  mind  that  the  past  month's  work  had 
more  than  paid  for  that  letter  to  the  President  and 
he  took  to  the  woods  on  his  own  hook. 

He  lay  down  to  sleep  the  night  he  deserted  in  a 
clump  of  trees  near  the  Confederate  outposts  and 
rested  his  head  on  a  pillow  of  pine  straw.  When  he 
waked  in  the  morning  at  dawn  he  felt  something  tickle 
his  nose.  He  cautiously  reached  one  hand  up  to 
see  what  it  was  and  felt  a  lock  of  hair.  He  rose 
slowly,  fearing  to  look  till  he  had  gained  his  feet. 
He  turned  his  eyes  at  last  and  saw  that  he  had  been 
sleeping  on  a  dead  man's  head  protruding  through 
the  shallow  dirt  and  pine  straw  that  had  been  hastily 
thrown  over  it  the  first  day  of  the  battle. 

With  a  yell  of  terror  he  started  on  a  run  for  his 
life. 

He  never  stopped  until  he  had  flanked  Lee's  army 
,  by  a  wide  swing,  made  his  way  to  the  rear  and  joined 
the  Confederacy. 

Grant  had  now  changed  his  plan  of  campaign.  He 
determined  to  capture  Petersburg  by  a  coup  and  cut 
the  communication  of  Lee  and  Richmond  with  the 

466 


THE   BROTHERS   MEET 

South.  The  coup  failed.  The  ragged  remnants  of 
Lee's  army  which  had  been  left  there  to  defend  it, 
held  the  trenches  until  reinforcements  arrived. 

He  determined  to  take  it  by  a  resistless  concerted 
assault.  On  the  16th  he  threw  three  of  his  army 
corps  on  Beauregard's  thin  lines  before  Petersburg, 
capturing  four  redoubts.  At  daylight,  on  the  17th, 
he  again  hurled  his  men  on  Beauregard  and  drove 
his  men  out  of  his  first  line  of  defense.  All  day  the 
defenders  held  their  second  line,  though  Grant's  crack 
divisions  poured  out  their  blood  like  water.  As  night 
fell  the  dead  were  once  more  piled  high  on  the  Federal 
front  and  the  Confederate  dead  filled  the  trenches. 

As  the  third  day  dawned  the  fierce  assault  was 
renewed,  but  Lee  had  brought  up  Anderson's  Corps 
with  Kershaw  and  Field's  division  and  the  blue  waves 
broke  against  the  impregnable  grey  ranks  and  rolled 
back,  leaving  the  dead  in  dark  heaps. 

As  the  shadows  of  night  fell,  Grant  withdrew  his 
shattered  lines  to  their  trenches. 

He  had  lost  ten  thousand  five  hundred  more  men 
and  had  jailed. 

He  began  to  burrow  his  fortifications  into  the  earth 
around  Petersburg  and  try  by  siege  what  had  been 
found  impossible  by  assault.  Further  and  further  crept 
his  blue  lines  with  pick  and  axe  and  spade  and  shovel, 
digging,  burrowing,  piling  their  dirt  and  timbers.  Be 
fore  each  blue  rampart  silently  grew  one  in  grey  until 
the  two  siege  lines  stretched  for  thirty-seven  miles  in 
bristling,  flaming  semicircle  covering  both  Richmond 
and  Petersburg. 

Again  Grant  planned  a  coup.  He  chose  the  role  of 
the  fox  this  time  instead  of  the  lion.  He  selected  the 

467 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


key  of  Lee's  long  lines  of  defense  and  set  a  regiment 
of  Pennsylvania  miners  to  work  digging  a  tunnel  under 
the  Confederate  fort  known  as  "Elliot's  Salient,"  which 
stood  but  two  hundred  yards  in  front  of  Burnside's 
corps. 

The  tunnel  was  finished,  the  mine  ready,  the  fuses 
set,  and  eight  thousand  pounds  of  powder  planted  in 
the  earth  beneath  the  unsuspecting  Confederates. 

Hancock's  division  with  Sheridan's  cavalry  were 
sent  to  make  a  demonstration  against  Richmond  and 
draw  Lee's  main  army  to  its  defense.  The  ruse  was 
partly  successful.  There  were  but  eighteen  thousand 
behind  the  defenses  of  Petersburg  on  the  dark  night 
when  Grant  massed  fifty  thousand  picked  men  before 
the  doomed  fort.  The  pioneers  with  their  axes  cleared 
the  abatis  and  opened  the  way  for  the  charging  hosts. 
Heavy  guns  and  mortars  were  planted  to  sweep  the 
open  space  beyond  the  Salient  and  beat  back  any  at 
tempted  counter  charge. 

The  time  set  for  the  explosion  was  just  before  dawn. 
The  fuse  was  lit  and  fifty  thousand  men  stood  grip 
ping  their  guns,  waiting  for  the  shock.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour  passed  and  nothing  happened.  An  ominous 
silence  brooded  over  the  dawning  sky.  The  only 
sounds  heard  were  the  twitter  of  waking  birds  in  the 
trees  and  hedgerows.  The  fuse  had  failed.  Two 
heroic  men  crawled  into  the  tunnel  and  found  it  had 
spluttered  out  in  a  damp  spot  but  fifty  feet  from  the 
powder.  It  required  an  hour  to  secure  and  plant  a 
new  fuse.  Day  had  dawned.  Just  in  front  of 
John  Vaughan's  regiment  a  Confederate  spy  was 
caught.  He  could  hear  every  word  of  the  pitiful 
tragedy. 

468 


THE   BROTHERS   MEET 

He  was  a  handsome,  brown-eyed  youngster  of 
eighteen. 

He  glanced  pathetically  toward  the  doomed  fort, 
and  shook  his  head: 

"Fifteen  minutes  more  and  I'd  have  saved  you, 
boys !" 

He  turned  then  to  the  executioners: 

"May  I  have  just  a  minute  to  pray?" 

"Yes." 

He  knelt  and  lifted  his  head,  the  fine  young  lips 
moving  in  silence  as  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun 
flooded  the  scene  with  splendor. 

"May  I  write  just  a  word  to  my  mother  and  to  my 
sweetheart?"  he  asked  with  a  smile.  "They're  just 
over  there  in  Petersburg." 

"Yes." 

They  gave  him  a  piece  of  paper  and  he  wrote  his 
last  words  of  love,  and  in  a  moment  was  swinging  from 
the  limb  of  a  tree.  Only  a  few  of  the  more  thoughtful 
men  paid  any  attention.  It  was  nothing.  Such  things 
happened  every  day.  God  only  kept  the  records. 

The  new  fuse  was  set  and  lighted.  The  minutes 
seemed  hours  as  the  men  waited  breathlessly.  With  a 
dull  muffled  roar  from  the  centre  of  the  earth  beneath 
their  very  feet  the  fort  rose  two  hundred  feet  straight 
into  the  sky,  driven  by  a  tower  of  flame  that  stood 
stark  and  red  in  the  heavens.  And  then  with  blinding 
crash  the  mighty  column  of  earth,  guns,  timbers  and 
three  hundred  grey  bodies  sank  into  the  yawning 
crater.  The  pit  was  sixty-five  feet  wide  and  three 
hundred  feet  long. 

The  explosion  had  been  a  complete  success.  The 
undermined  fort  had  been  wiped  from  the  landscape. 

469 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


A  great  gap  opened  in  Lee's  lines  marked  by  the 
grave  of  three  hundred  of  his  men. 

Burnside's  division  rushed  into  the  crater  and  climbed 
through  the  breach.  His  men  were  met  promptly  by 
Ransom's  brigade  of  North  Carolinians  and  held. 
The  Union  support  became  entangled  in  the  hole, 
stumbled  and  fell  in  confusion. 

General  Mahone's  brigades  hastily  called,  rushed 
into  position,  and  a  general  Confederate  charge  was 
ordered.  In  silence,  their  arms  trailing  by  their  sides, 
they  quickly  crossed  the  open  space  and  fell  like  demons 
on  the  confused  blue  lines  which  were  driven  back  into 
the  crater  and  slaughtered  like  sheep.  The  Confed 
erate  guns  were  trained  on  this  yawning  pit  whose 
edges  now  bristled  with  flaming  muskets.  Regiment 
after  regiment  of  blue  were  hurled  into  this  hell  hole 
to  be  torn  and  cut  to  pieces. 

A  division  of  negro  troops  were  hurried  in  and  the 
sight  of  them  drove  the  Southerners  to  desperation. 
It  took  but  a  moment's  grim  charge  to  hurl  these 
black  regiments  back  into  the  pit  on  the  bodies  of 
their  fallen  white  comrades.  The  crater  became  a 
butcher's  shambles. 

When  the  smoke  cleared  four  thousand  more  of 
Grant's  men  lay  dead  and  wounded  in  the  grave  in 
which  had  been  buried  three  hundred  grey  defenders. 

Lee's  losses  were  less  than  one  third  as  many.  Grant 
asked  for  a  truce  to  bury  his  dead  and  from  five  until 
nine  next  morning  there  was  no  firing  along  the  grim 
lines  of  siege  for  the  first  time  since  the  day  Peters 
burg  had  been  invested. 

So  confident  now  was  Lee  that  he  could  hold  his 
position  against  any  assault  his  powerful  opponent 

470 


THE   BROTHERS  MEET 

could  make,  he  detached  Jubal  Early  with  twenty  thou 
sand  men  and  sent  him  through  the  Shenandoah  Valley 
to  strike  Washington. 

Grant  was  compelled  to  send  Sheridan  after  him. 
In  the  meantime  he  determined  to  take  advantage  of 
Lee's  reduced  strength  and  cut  the  Weldon  railroad 
over  which  were  coming  all  supplies  from  the  South. 

Warren's  corps  was  sent  on  this  important  mis 
sion.  His  attack  failed  and  he  was  driven  back  with 
a  loss  of  three  thousand  men.  He  entrenched  himself 
and  called  for  reinforcements.  Hancock's  famous 
corps  was  hurried  to  the  assistance  of  Warren. 

John  Vaughan's  regiment  was  now  attached  to  Han 
cock's  army.  As  they  were  strapping  on  their  knap 
sacks  for  this  march,  to  his  amazement  Julius  sud 
denly  appeared,  grinning  and  bustling  about  as  if1 
he  had  never  strayed  from  the  fold.  His  clothes  were 
in  shreds  and  tatters. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  this  time,  nigger?"  John 
asked. 

"Who,  me?" 

"And  where'd  you  get  that  new  suit  of  clothes?" 

"Well,  I'm  gwine  tell  ye  Gawd's  truf,  Marse  John. 
Atter  dat  Cold  Harbor  business  I  lit  out  fur  de  odder 
side.  I  wuz  gittin'  'long  very  well  dar  wid  General 
Elliot  in  de  Confederacy  when  all  of  er  sudden  somfin' 
busted  an'  blowed  me  clean  back  inter  de  Union. 
An'  here  I  is — yassah.  An'  I'se  gwine  ter  stick  by 
you  now.  'Pears  lak  de  ain't  no  res'  fur  de  weary  no 
whar." 

John  was  glad  to  have  his  enterprising  cook  once 
more  and  received  the  traitor  philosophically. 

Lee  threw  A.  P.  Hill's  corps  between  Warren  and 
471 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Hancock's  advancing  division.  Hancock  entrenched 
himself  along  the  railroad  which  he  was  destroying. 

Hill  trained  his  artillery  on  these  trenches  and 
charged  them  with  swift  desperation  late  in  the  af 
ternoon.  The  Union  lines  were  broken  and  crushed 
and  the  men  fled  in  panic.  In  vain  "Hancock  the 
Superb,"  who  had  seen  his  soldiers  fall  but  never  fail, 
tried  to  rally  them.  In  agony  he  witnessed  their 
utter  rout.  His  trenches  were  taken,  his  guns  cap 
tured  and  turned  in  a  storm  of  death  on  his  fleeing 
men.  He  lost  twelve  stands  of  colors,  nine  big  guns 
and  twenty-five  hundred  men. 

As  the  darkness  fell  General  Nelson  A.  Miles  suc 
ceeded  in  rallying  a  new  line  and  stayed  the  panic 
by  a  desperate  countercharge. 

Once  more  the  grapple  was  hand  to  hand,  man  to 
man,  in  the  darkness.  John  Vaughan  had  fired  the 
last  load,  save  one,  from  his  revolver,  and  sword  in 
hand,  was  cheering  his  men  in  a  mad  effort  to  regain 
their  lost  entrenchments.  Blue  and  grey  were  mixed 
in  black  confusion.  Only  by  the  light  of  flashing  guns 
could  friend  be  distinguished  from  foe.  A  musket 
flamed  near  his  face  and  through  the  deep  darkness 
which  followed  a  sword  thrust  pierced  his  side.  He 
sprang  back  with  an  oath  and  clinched  with  his  antag 
onist,  feeling  for  his  throat  in  silence.  For  a  minute 
they  wheeled  struggled  and  fought  in  desperation, 
stumbling  over  underbrush,  slipping  to  their  knees  and 
rising.  Every  instinct  of  the  fighting  brute  in  man 
was  up  now  and  the  battle  was  to  the  death  for  one — 
perhaps  both. 

John  succeeded  at  last  in  releasing  his  right  hand 
and  drawing  his  revolver.  His  enemy  sprang  back 

472 


THE   BROTHERS   MEET 

at  the  same  moment  and  through  the  darkness  again 
came  the  sword  into  his  breast.  He  felt  the  blood 
following  the  blade  as  it  was  snatched  away,  raised 
his  revolver  and  fired  his  last  shot  squarely  at  his  foe. 
The  muzzle  was  less  than  two  feet  from  his  face 
and  in  the  flash  he  saw  Ned's  look  of  horror,  both  ^ 
brothers  recognizing  each  other  in  the  same  instant.  7 

"John— my  God,  it's  you!" 

"Yes — yes — and  it's  you — God  have  mercy  if  I've 
killed  you!" 

In  a  moment  the  older  brother  had  caught  Ned's 
sinking  body  and  lowered  it  gently  on  the  leaves. 

"It's  all  right,  John,  old  man,"  he  gasped.  "If  I 
had  to  die  it's  just  as  well  by  your  hand.  It's  war — 
it's  hell — all  hell — anyhow — what's  the  difference " 

"But  you  mustn't  die,  Boy!"  John  whispered  fiercely. 
"You  mustn't,  I  tell  you!" 

"I  didn't  want  to  die,"  Ned  sighed.     "Life  was—  *- 
just — becoming — real — beautiful — wonderful " 

He  stopped  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 

John  bent  lower  and  Ned's  arm  slipped  toward  his 
neck  and  his  fingers  touched  the  warm  blood  soaking 
his  clothes. 

"I'm — afraid — I — got — you, — too, — John " 

"No,  I'm  all  right — brace  up,  Boy.  Pull  that 
devil  will  of  yours  together — we've  both  got  it — and 
live!" 

The  younger  man's  head  had  sunk  on  his  brother's 
blood-stained  breast. 

"Now,  look  here,  Ned,  old  man — this'll  never  do — 
don't — don't — give  up!" 

The  answer  came  faint  and  low: 

"Tell— Betty— when— you— see— her— that  —  with 
473 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


—  my — last — breath — I — spoke — her — name — her  — 
face — lights — the — dark — way " 

"You're  going,  Ned?" 

"Yes " 

"Say  you  forgive  me!" 

"There's — nothing — to — forgive — it's — all  —  right 
— John — good-bye " 

The  voice  stopped.  The  battle  had  ceased.  The 
woods  were  still.  The  older  brother  could  feel  the 
slow  rising  and  falling  of  the  strong  young  chest  as 
if  the  muscles  in  the  glory  of  their  perfect  life  refused 
to  hear  the  call  of  Death. 

He  bent  in  the  darkness  and  kissed  the  trembling 
lips  and  they,  too,  were  still.  He  drew  himself 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  and  through  the  beauti 
ful  summer  night  held  the  body  of  his  dead  brother  in 
his  arms. 

His  fevered  eyes  were  opened  at  last  and  he  saw  war 
as  it  is  for  the  first  time.  It  had  meant  nothing  before 
this  reckoning  of  the  dead  and  wounded  after  battle — 
sixty  thousand  men  from  the  Rapidan  to  Cold  Harbor 
in  thirty  days — ten  thousand  five  hundred  in  the  futile 
dash  against  Petersburg — four  thousand  in  the  crater 
— five  thousand  five  hundred  more  now  on  this  torn, 
twisted  railroad,  and  all  a  failure — not  an  inch  of 
ground  gained. 

These  torn  and  mangled  bundles  of  red  rags  he  had 
watched  the  men  dump  into  trenches  and  cover  with 
dirt  had  meant  nothing  real.  They  were  only  loath 
some  things  to  be  hidden  from  sight  before  the  bugles 
called  the  army  to  move. 

Now  he  saw  a  vision.  Over  every  dark  bundle  on 
those  blood-soaked  fields  bent  a  brother,  a  father,  a 

474 


THE   BROTHERS   MEET 

mother,  a  sister  or  sweetheart.  He  heard  their  cries  of 
anguish  until  all  other  sounds  were  dumb. 

The  heaps  of  amputated  legs  and  arms  he  had  seen 
so  often  without  a  sigh  were  bathed  now  in  tears.  The 
surgeons  with  their  hands  and  arms  and  clothes  soaked 
with  red — he  saw  them  with  the  eyes  of  love — scene  on 
scene  in  hideous  review — the  young  officer  at  Cold  Har 
bor  whose  leg  they  were  cutting  off  without  the  use  of 
chloroform,  his  face  convulsed,  his  jaws  locked  as  the 
knife  crashed  through  nerve  and  sinew,  muscle  and 
artery.  And  those  saws  gnawing  through  bones — God 
in  heaven,  he  could  hear  them  all  now — they  were  cut 
ting  and  tearing  those  he  loved. 

He  heard  their  terrible  orders  with  new  ears.  For 
the  first  time  he  realized  what  they  meant. 

"Give  them  the  bayonet  now " 

The  low,  savage,  subdued  tones  of  the  officer  had 
once  thrilled  his  soul.  The  memory  sickened  him. 

He  could  hear  the  impassioned  speech  of  the  Colonel 
as  the  men  lay  flat  on  their  faces  in  the  grass — the 
click  of  bayonets  in  their  places — the  look  on  the  faces 
of  the  men  eager,  fierce,  intense,  as  they  sprang  to  their 
feet  at  the  call: 

"Charge!" 

And  the  fight.  A  big,  broad-shouldered  brute  is 
trying  to  bayonet  a  boy  of  fifteen.  The  boy's  slim 
hand  grips  the  steel  with  an  expression  of  mingled  rage 
and  terror.  He  holds  on  with  grim  fury.  A  comrade 
rushes  to  his  rescue.  His  bayonet  misses  the  upper 
body  of  the  strong  man  and  crashes  hard  against  his 
hip  bone.  The  man  with  his  strength  seizes  the  gun, 
snatches  it  from  his  bleeding  thigh  and  swings  it  over 
his  head  to  brain  his  new  antagonist,  when  the  first 

475 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


boy,  with  a  savage  laugh,  plunges  his  bayonet  through 
the  strong  man's  heart  and  he  falls  with  a  dull  crash, 
breaking  the  steel  from  the  musket's  muzzle  and  lies 
quivering,  with  the  blood-spouting  point  protrud 
ing  from  his  side.  He  understood  now — these  were 
not  soldiers  obeying  orders — they  were  fathers  and 
brothers  and  playmates,  killing  and  maiming  and  tear 
ing  each  other  to  pieces. 

Lord  God  of  Love  and  Mercy,  the  pity  and  horror 
of  it  all! 

It  was  one  o'clock  before  Julius,  searching  the  field 
with  a  lantern,  came  on  him  huddled  against  the  tree 
with  Ned's  body  still  in  his  arms,  staring  into  the  dead 
face. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 


Again  Betty  Winter  found  in  her  work  relief  from 
despair.     She  had  hoped  for  peace  in  the  beauty  and 
tenderness  of  Ned's  chivalrous  devotion.     Yet  his  one 
letter  reporting  the  meeting  had  revealed  her  mistake. 
The  moment  she  had  read  his  confession  the  impulse  to 
scream  her  protest  to  John  was  all  but  resistless.     She 
had  tried  in  vain  to  find  a  way  of  writing  to  Ned  to  < 
tell  him  that  she  had  deceived  him  and  herself,  and  " 
ask  his  forgiveness. 

It  was  impossible  to  write  to  John  under  such  con 
ditions  and  she  had  suffered  in  silence.  And  then  the 
wounded  began  to  pour  into  Washington  from  Grant's 
front.  The  like  of  that  procession  of  ambulances  from 
the  landing  on  Sixth  Street  to  the  hospitals  on  the 
hills  back  of  the  city  had  never  been  seen.  The  wounded 
men  were  brought  on  swift  steamers  from  Aquia  Creek. 
Floors  and  decks  were  covered  with  mattresses  on 
which  they  lay  as  thickly  as  they  could  be  placed.  As 
the  wounded  died  on  the  way  they  were  moved  to  the 
bow  and  their  faces  covered. 

At  the  landing  tender  hands  were  lifting  them  into 
the  ambulances  which  slowly  moved  out  in  one  line  to 
the  hospitals  and  back  in  a  circle  by  another.  These 
ambulances  stretched  in  tragic,  unbroken  procession 
for  three  miles  and  never  ceased  to  move  on  and  on 
in  an  endless  circle  for  three  days  and  nights. 

477 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


In  an  agony  of  anxiety  Betty  asked  to  be  trans 
ferred  to  the  landing  that  she  might  watch  them  fill 
the  wagons.  Her  soul  was  oppressed  with  the  certainty 
that  John  Vaughan  would  be  found  in  one  of  them. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  they  were  still 
coming  in  never-ending  streams  from  the  steamer  decks. 
She  wrung  her  hands  in  a  moment  of  despair: 

"Merciful  God!  Are  they  bringing  back  Grant's 
whole  army?" 

The  patience  of  these  suffering  men  was  sublime. 
Only  a  sigh  from  one  who  would  rise  no  more.  Only 
a  groan  here  and  there  from  parched  lips  that  asked 
for  water. 

At  last  came  the  ominous  news  for  which  she  had 
watched  and  waited  with  sickening  forebodings.  The 
Republican  printed  the  name  of  Captain  John  Vaughan 
among  the  wounded  in  the  fight  of  Warren  and  Han 
cock's  corps  over  the  Weldon  Railroad.  There  were 
only  two  thousand  wounded  men  sent  in  on  the  steamers 
from  the  front  after  this  battle,  and  they  arrived  at 
night. 

Betty  hurried  to  the  landing  and  found  that  the 
ambulances  had  begun  to  move.  She  searched  every 
face  in  vain,  and  when  the  last  stretcher  has  passed 
out  walked  with  trembling  steps  and  scanned  each 
silent  covered  face  in  the  bow. 

"Thank  God,"  she  murmured,  "he's  not  there !" 

She  must  begin  now  the  patient  search  among  the 
eighty  thousand  sick  and  wounded  men  in  the  city  of 
sorrows  on  the  hills. 

She  secured  a  hack  and  tried  to  reach  the  head  of 
the  procession  and  find  the  destination  of  the  first 
wagons  that  had  left  before  her  arrival. 

478 


LOVE'S   PLEDGE 


It  was  after  midnight.  A  thunder  storm  suddenly 
rolled  its  dense  clouds  over  the  city  and  smothered  the 
street  lamps  in  a  pall  of  darkness.  The  rain  burst  with 
a  flash  of  lightning  and  poured  in  torrents.  The  elec 
tric  display  was  awe-inspiring.  The  horses  in  one  of 
the  ambulances  in  the  long  line  stampeded  and  smashed 
the  vehicle  in  front.  The  procession  was  stopped  in 
the  height  of  the  storm.  The  vivid  flame  was  now 
continuous  and  Betty  could  see  the  wagons  standing 
in  a  mud-splashed  row  for  a  mile,  the  lightning  play 
bringing  out  in  startling  outline  each  horse  and  vehicle. 

From  every  ambulance  was  hanging  a  fringe  of 
curious  objects  shining  white  against  the  shadows  when 
suddenly  illumined.  Betty  looked  in  pity  and  awe. 
They  were  the  burning  fevered  arms  and  legs  and 
heads  of  the  suffering  wounded  men  eager  to  feel  the 
splash  of  the  cooling  rain. 

A  full  week  passed  before  her  search  ended  and  she 
located  him  in  one  of  the  big  new  buildings  hastily 
constructed  of  boards. 

With  trembling  step  she  started  to  go  straight  to 
his  cot.  The  memory  of  his  brutal  stare  that  day 
stopped  her  and  she  scribbled  a  line  and  sent  it  to 
him: 

"John,  dear,  may  I  see  you  a  moment? 

"BETTY." 

The  doctor  assured  her  that  he  was  rapidly  recover 
ing,  though  restless  and  depressed.  She  caught  her 
breath  in  a  little  gasp  of  surprise  at  the  sight  of  his 
white  face,  pale  and  spiritual  looking  now  from  the  loss 
of  blood. 

479 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Her  eyes  were  shining  with  intense  excitement  as 
she  swiftly  crossed  the  room,  dropped  on  her  knees 
beside  his  cot  and  seized  his  hands: 

"O  John,  John,  can  you  ever  forgive  me!" 

He  slipped  his  arm  around  her  neck  and  held  her  a 
long  time  in  silence. 

The  men  in  the  room  paid  no  attention  to  the  little 
drama.  It  was  happening  every  day  around  them. 

"Oh,  dearest,"  she  went  on  eagerly,  "I  tried  to  put 
you  out  of  my  heart,  but  I  couldn't.  I  am  yours,  all 
yours,  body  and  soul.  Love  asks  but  one  question — 
do  you  love  me?" 

"Forever!"  he  whispered. 

"In  my  loneliness  and  despair  I  tried  to  give  myself 
to  Ned,  but  I  couldn't,  dear.  I  would  have  told  him 
so  had  I  been  able  to  reach  him — though  I  dreaded  to 
hurt  him." 

John  drew  her  hands  down  and  looked  at  her  with 
a  strange  expression. 

"He's  beyond  the  reach  of  pain  and  disappointment 
now,  dear " 

"Dead?"  she  gasped. 

The  man  only  nodded,  and  clung  desperately  to 
her  hands  while  her  head  sank  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

"We'll  cherish  his  memory,"  he  said  in  a  curiously 
quiet  voice,  "as  one  of  the  sweetest  bonds  between  us, 
my  love " 

"Yes — always !"  was  the  low  answer. 

For  the  life  of  him  John  Vaughan  couldn't  tell  the 
terrible  fact  that  his  hand  had  struck  him  down.  God 
alone  should  know  that. 

When  she  had  recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  an 
nouncement  Betty  caressed  his  hand  gently: 

480 


'LOVE'S   PLEDGE 


"We  just  love  whom  we  love,  dearest,  and  we  can't 
help  it.  I  am  yours  and  you  are  mine.  It's  not  a 
question  of  good  or  bad,  right  or  wrong.  We  love — 
that's  all." 

"Yes,  we  love — that's  all  and  it's  everything.  There's 
no  more  doubt,  dear?" 

"Not  one,"  she  cried.  "I'm  going  to  bring  back  the 
red  blood  to  your  cheeks  now  and  take  that  fevered 
look  out  of  your  eyes " 

The  weeks  of  convalescence  were  swift  and  beau 
tiful  to  Betty — her  ministry  to  his  slightest  whim  a 
continuous  joy.  The  only  cloud  in  her  sky  was  the 
strange,  feverish,  unquiet  look  in  his  eyes.  On  the  day 
of  his  discharge  he  received  a  letter  from  his  mother 
which  deepened  this  expression  to  the  verge  of  mania. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  Betty  asked  in  alarm. 

"One  of  those  unfortunate  things  that  have  been 
happening  somewhere  every  day  for  the  past  year — 
an  arrest  and  imprisonment  for  treasonable  utter 
ances " 

"Who  has  been  arrested?" 

"This  time  my  father  in  Missouri." 

"Your  father?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes.  He  has  been  a  bitter  critic  of  the  war. 
He  seems  to  have  gone  too  far.  There  was  a  riot 
of  some  sort  in  the  village  and  he  took  the  wrong 
side." 

There  was  an  ominous  quiet  in  the  way  he  talked. 

"I'll  take  you  to  see  the  President,  dearest,"  she  said 
soothingly.  "We'll  ask  for  his  release.  It's  sure  to 
be  granted." 

John's  eyes  suddenly  flashed. 

"You  think  so?" 

481 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Absolutely  sure  of  it." 

"We'll  try  it  then,"  he  said,  with  a  cold  ring  in  his 
voice  that  chilled  Betty's  heart,  and  sent  her  home 
wondering  at  its  meaning. 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

THE    DARKEST    HOUR 

In  the  summer  of  1864  the  President  saw  the  darkest 
hours  of  his  life.  The  change  in  his  appearance  was 
startling  and  pitiful.  His  sombre  eyes  seemed  to  have 
sunk  into  their  caverns  beneath  the  bushy  brows  and 
all  but  disappeared.  Their  gaze  was  more  and  more 
detached  from  earth  and  set  on  some  dim,  invisible 
shore.  Deeper  and  deeper  sank  the  furrows  in  his 
ashen  face.  The  shoulders  drooped  beneath  a  weight 
too  great  for  any  human  soul  to  bear. 

To  Betty  Winter's  expression  of  loyalty  and  sym 
pathy  he  answered  sadly: 

"It's  success  I  need,  child, — not  sympathy.  My 
own  burdens  of  cares  are  as  nothing  to  my  soul.  It's 
our  cause — our  cause — the  Union  must  live  or  I  shall 
die!" 

He  sat  sometimes  by  his  window  for  hours  immov 
able  as  a  marble  statue,  his  deep,  hungry  eyes  gazing, 
gazing  forever  over  the  shining  river  toward  the  South 
ern  hills.  His  Secretaries  stepped  softly  about  the 
room  in  silent  sympathy  with  the  Chief  they  loved  with 
passionate  devotion. 

Grant  had  crossed  the  Rapidan  on  that  glorious 
spring  morning  in  May  with  his  magnificent  army  ac 
companied  by  the  highest  hopes  of  millions.  And  there 
had  followed  those  awful  sickening  battles,  one  after 

483 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


another,  until  he  had  fallen  back  in  failure  before  the 
impassable  trenches  around  Petersburg. 

The  star  of  Grant,  the  conquering  hero  of  the  West, 
had  apparently  set  in  a  sea  of  blood. 

Lee,  with  inferior  numbers,  alert,  resourceful, 
vigilant,  had  checked  and  baffled  him  at  every  turn,  and 
Richmond's  fall  was  no  nearer  to  human  eye  than  in 
1862. 

The  miles  and  miles  of  hospital  barracks  in  Wash 
ington,  crowded  to  their  doors  with  wounded,  dying 
men,  were  the  living  witnesses  of  the  Nation's  mortal 
agony.  Every  city,  town,  village,  hamlet  and  county 
in  the  North  was  in  mourning.  Death  had  literally 
flung  its  pall  over  the  world. 

From  these  thousands  of  stricken  homes  there  had 
slowly  risen  a  storm  of  protest  against  the  new  leader 
of  the  Army.  The  word  "Butcher"  was  on  every  lip. 
General  Grant,  they  said,  possessed  merely  the  qualities 
of  the  bulldog  fighter — tenacity  and  persistence.  He 
held  what  he  had  won  so  long  as  men  were  poured 
into  his  ranks  by  tens  of  thousands  to  take  the  place 
of  the  dead.  They  declared  that  he  possessed  no 
genius,  no  strategic  skill,  no  power  to  originate  plans 
and  devise  means  to  overcome  his  skillful  and  brilliant 
antagonist.  The  demand  was  pressed  on  the  President 
for  his  removal. 

His  refusal  had  brought  on  him  the  blame  for  all 
the  blood  and  all  the  suffering  and  all  the  failures  of 
the  past  bitter  year. 

His  answer  to  his  critics  was  remorseless  in  its  com 
mon  sense,  but  added  nothing  to  his  hold  on  the  people. 

"We  must  fight  to  win,"  he  firmly  declared.  "Grant 
is  the  ablest  general  we  have  yet  developed.  His  losses 

484 


THE   DARKEST  HOUR 

have  been  appalling — but  the  struggle  is  now  to  the 
bitter  end.  Our  resources  are  exhaustless.  The  South 
can  not  replace  her  fallen  soldiers — her  losses  are  fatal, 
ours  are  not." 

In  the  face  of  a  political  campaign  he  prepared  a 
call  by  draft  for  five  hundred  thousand  more  men  and 
issued  a  proclamation  appointing  a  day  of  Humilia 
tion,  Fasting  and  Prayer. 

The  spirits  of  the  people  touched  the  lowest  tide 
ebb  of  despair. 

The  war  debt  had  reached  the  appalling  total  of 
two  thousand  millions  of  dollars  and  its  daily  cost  was 
four  millions.  The  paper  of  the  Treasury  was  rapidly 
depreciating  and  the  premium  on  gold  rising  until  the 
value  of  a  one  dollar  green-back  note  was  less  than 
fifty  cents  in  real  money.  The  bankers,  fearing  the 
total  bankruptcy  of  the  Nation,  had  begun  to  refuse 
further  loans  on  bonds  at  any  rate  of  interest. 

The  bounty  offered  to  men  for  reenlistment  in  the 
army  when  their  terms  expired  amounted  to  the  un 
heard  of  sum  of  one  thousand  five  hundred  dollars 
cash  on  signing  for  the  new  term.  Bounty  jumping 
had  become  the  favorite  sport  of  adventurous  scoun 
drels.  Millions  of  dollars  were  being  stolen  by  these 
men  without  the  addition  of  a  musket  to  the  fighting 
force.  Grant  was  hanging  them  daily,  but  the  traitor's 
work  continued.  The  enlisted  man  deserted  in  three 
weeks  and  reappeared  at  the  next  post  and  reenlisted 
again,  collecting  his  bounty  with  each  enrollment. 

The  enemies  of  the  President  in  his  own  party,  led 
by  Senator  Winter,  to  make  sure  of  his  defeat  before 
the  convention,  which  was  about  to  meet  in  Baltimore, 
held  a  National  convention  of  Radical  Republicans  in 

485 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Cleveland  and  nominated  John  C.  Fremont  for  the 
Presidency.  Their  purpose  was  by  this  party  division 
to  make  Lincoln's  nomination  an  impossibility.  Fre 
mont's  withdrawal  was  the  weapon  with  which  they 
would  fight  the  President  before  the  regular  Repub 
lican  convention  and  after.  Senator  Winter  voiced 
the  feeling  of  this  convention  in  a  speech  of  bitter  and 
vindictive  eloquence. 

"I  denounce  the  administration  of  Abraham  Lin 
coln,"  he  declared,  "as  imbecile  and  vacillating.  We 
demand  not  only  the  crushing  of  Lee's  army,  but  a 
program  of  vengeance  against  the  rebels,  which  will 
mean  their  annihilation  when  conquered.  We  demand 
the  confiscation  of  their  property,  the  overthrow  of 
every  trace  of  local  government  and  the  reduction  of 
their  States  to  conquered  provinces  under  the  control 
of  Congress.  The  milk  and  water  policy  of  Lincoln 
is  both  a  civil  and  a  military  failure,  and  his  renomina- 
tion  would  be  the  greatest  calamity  which  could  befall 
our  Nation!" 

A  week  later  the  regular  party  convention  met  at 
Baltimore.  On  the  night  before  this  meeting  the  Presi 
dent's  renomination  was  not  certain. 

On  every  hand  his  enemies  were  assailing  him  with 
unabated  fury.  Every  check  to  the  National  arms 
was  laid  at  his  door — every  mistake  of  civil  or  military 
management.  The  ravages  of  the  Confederate  cruisers 
which  were  built  in  England  and  had  swept  the  seas 
of  our  commerce  were  blamed  on  him.  He  should  have 
called  Great  Britain  to  account  for  these  outrages  and 
had  two  wars  instead  of  one ! 

The  cost  of  the  great  struggle  mounting  and 
mounting  into  billions  was  his  fault.  The  draft  might 

486 


THE  DARKEST  HOUR 


have  been  avoided  with  the  Government  in  abler  hands. 
The  emancipation  policy  had  not  freed  a  single  negro 
and  driven  the  whole  Democratic  Party  into  opposition 
to  the  war.  His  Border  State  policy  had  held  four 
Slave  States  in  the  Union,  but  crippled  the  moral 
power  of  his  position  as  anti-Slavery  man.  Every  lie, 
every  slander  of  four  years  were  now  repeated  and 
magnified. 

A  competent  man  must  be  put  into  the  White  House. 
The  Rail-splitter  must  go! 

The  real  test  of  strength  would  come  in  the  secret 
meeting  of  the  Grand  Council  of  the  Union  League — 
the  Secret  Society  which  had  been  organized  to  defeat 
the  schemes  of  the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle.  In 
this  meeting  men  w^ill  say  exactly  what  they  think. 
In  the  big  convention  to-morrow  all  will  be  harmony 
and  peace.  The  convention  will  do  what  these  power 
ful  leaders  from  every  State  in  the  North  tell  them 
to  do. 

The  assembly  is  dignified  and  orderly.  The  men 
who  compose  it  are  the  eyes  and  ears  and  brains  of 
the  party  they  represent.  They  are  the  real  rulers 
of  the  Nation.  The  party  will  obey  their  orders. 
These  are  the  men  who  do  the  executive  thinking  for 
millions.  The  millions  can  only  reject  or  ratify  their 
wills.  We  are  a  democracy  in  theory,  but  in  reality 
here  is  assembled  the  aristocracy  of  brains  which  con 
stitutes  our  government. 

The  Grand  President  Edmunds  raps  for  order  and 
faces  a  crowd  of  keen,  intelligent  leaders  of  men  his 
equal  in  culture  and  will. 

The  meeting  is  called  for  but  one  purpose.  With 
swift,  direct  action  the  battle  begins.  A  friend  of 

487 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


the  President  offers  a  resolution  endorsing  his  admin 
istration,  preceded  by  a  preamble  which  declares 
it  to  be  unwise  to  swap  horses  while  crossing  a 
stream. 

The  big  guns  open  on  this  battle  line  without  a 
moment's  hesitation.  Senator  Winter  has  not  thought 
it  wise  to  make  this  opening  speech.  The  prominent 
part  he  took  in  organizing  and  launching  the  Fremont 
convention  has  put  him  in  the  position  of  an  avowed 
bolter.  He  has  already  put  forward  a  colleague  from 
the  Senate  who  is  supposed  to  be  friendly  to  the  ad 
ministration. 

The  Senator  is  a  man  of  blunt  speech  and  dominating 
personality.  He  speaks  with  earnestness,  conviction 
and  eloquence.  He  does  not  mince  words.  All  the 
petty  grievances  and  mistakes  and  disappointments  of 
his  four  years  under  the  tall,  quiet  man's  strong  hand 
are  firing  his  soul  now  with  burning  passion. 

He  boldly  accuses  the  President  of  tyranny,  usurpa 
tion,  illegal  acts,  of  abused  power,  of  misused  advan 
tages,  of  favoritism,  stupidity,  frauds  in  administra 
tion,  timidity,  sluggish  inaction,  oppression,  the  willful 
neglect  of  suffering  and  the  willful  refusal  to  hear  the 
cry  of  the  down-trodden  slave. 

He  turns  the  battery  of  his  scorn  now  on  his  personal 
•  peculiarities,  his  drawn  and  haggard  and  sorrow  marked 
face,  his  heartlessness  in  reading  and  telling  funny 
stories,  and  last  of  all  his  selfish  ambition  which  asks 
a  second  term  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  party  and  his 
country. 

A  Congressman  of  unusual  brilliance  and  power  fol 
lows  this  assault  with  one  of  even  greater  eloquence 
and  bitterness. 

488 


THE   DARKEST   HOUR 


Two  more  in  quick  succession  and  all  demand  with 
one  accord  the  same  thing: 

"Down  with  Lincoln!" 

Not  a  voice  has  been  lifted  in  his  favor.  If  he 
has  a  friend  he  is  apparently  afraid  to  open  his 
mouth. 

And  then  the  giant  form  of  Jim  Lane  slowly  rises. 
He  looks  quietly  over  the  crowd  as  if  passing  in  re 
view  the  tragic  events  of  four  years.  Is  he  going  to 
add  his  voice  to  this  chorus  of  rage?  A  year  ago  in 
the  same  Grand  Council  he  had  a  bitter  grievance 
against  the  President  and  assailed  him  furiously.  Yes 
terday  he  was  at  the  White  House  and  came  away 
with  a  shadow  on  his  strong  face. 

He  stood  for  a  long  time  in  silence  and  seemed  to 
be  scanning  each  individual  in  the  crowd  of  tense 
listeners. 

And  then  his  deep  voice  broke  the  stillness.  His 
words  rang  like  the  boom  of  cannon  and  their  pene 
trating  power  seemed  to  pierce  the  brick  walls  of  the 
room. 

"Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Grand  Council : 

"To  stir  up  sore  and  wounded  hearts  to  bitterness 
requires  no  skill  or  power  of  oratory.  To  address  the 
minds  of  men  sickened  by  disaster,  wearied  by  long 
trial,  heated  by  passion,  bewildered  by  uncertainty, 
heavy  with  grief,  and  cunningly  to  turn  them  into 
one  vindictive  channel,  into  one  blind  rush  of  senseless 
fury  requires  no  great  power  of  oratory  and  no  great 
mastery  of  the  truth.  It  may  be  the  trick  of  a  char 
latan!" 

He  paused  and  gazed  with  deliberate  and  offensive 
insolence  into  the  faces  of  the  men  who  had  spoken. 

489 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Their  eyes  blazed  with  wrath,  and  a  fierce  thrill  of 
excitement  swept  the  crowd. 

"For  a  man  to  address  himself  to  an  assembly  like 
this,  however,  goaded  to  madness  by  suffering,  sorrow, 
humiliation,  perplexity — and  now  roused  by  venomous 
arts  to  an  almost  unanimous  condemnation  of  the  in 
nocent — I  say  to  address  you,  turn  you  in  your  tracks 
and  force  you  to  go  the  other  way — that  would  indeed 
be  a  feat  of  transcendent  oratorical  power.  I  am  no 
orator — but  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  truth  and 
the  truth  will  make  you  do  that  thing!" 

Men  began  to  lean  forward  in  their  seats  now  as 
with  impassioned  faith  he  told  the  story  of  the  match 
less  work  the  great  lonely  spirit  had  wrought  for  his 
people  in  the  White  House  during  the  past  passion- 
torn  years.  His  last  sentence  rang  like  the  clarion 
peal  of  a  trumpet: 

"Desert  him  now  and  the  election  of  George  B.  Me- 
Clellan  on  a  'Peace-at-any-Price'  platform  is  a  cer 
tainty — the  Union  is  dissevered,  the  Confederacy  es 
tablished,  the  slaves  reshackled,  the  dead  dishonored 
and  the  living  disgraced!" 

His  last  sentence  was  an  angry  shout  whose  passion 
swept  the  crowd  to  its  feet.  The  resolution  was  passed 
and  Lincoln's  nomination  became  a  mere  formality. 

But  Senator  Winter  had  only  begun  to  fight.  His 
whole  life  as  an  Abolitionist  had  been  spent  in  oppo- 
sition  to  majorities.  He  had  no  constructive  power 
and  no  constructive  imagination.  His  genius  was 
purely  destructive,  but  it  was  genius.  Without  a 
moment's  delay  he  began  his  plans  to  force  the  Presi 
dent  to  withdraw  from  his  own  ticket  in  the  midst  of 
his  campaign. 

490 


THE   DARKEST  HOUR 


The  one  ominous  sign  which  the  man  in  the  White 
House  saw  with  dread  was  the  rapid  growth  through 
these  dark  days  of  a  "Peace-at-any-Price"  sentiment 
within  his  own  party  lines  in  the  heart  of  the  loyal 
North.  Again  Horace  Greeley  and  his  great  paper 
voiced  this  cry  of  despair. 

The  mischief  he  was  doing  was  incalculable  because 
he  persisted  in  teaching  the  millions  who  read  his  paper 
that  peace  was  at  any  time  possible  if  Abraham  Lin 
coln  would  only  agree  to  accept  it.  As  a  Southern- 
born  man,  the  President  knew  the  workings  of  the 
mind  of  Jefferson  Davis  as  clearly  as  he  understood 
his  own.  Both  these  men  were  born  in  Kentucky  with 
in  a  few  miles  of  each  other  on  almost  the  same  day. 
The  President  knew  that  Jefferson  Davis  would  never 
consider  any  settlement  of  the  war  except  on  the  basis 
of  the  division  of  the  Union  and  the  recognition  of  • 
the  Confederacy.  When  Greeley  declared  that  the 
Confederate  Commissioners  were  in  Canada  with  offers 
of  peace,  the  President  sent  Greeley  himself  im 
mediately  to  meet  them  and  confer  on  the  basis  of  a 
restored  Union  with  compensation  for  the  slaves.  The 
Conference  failed  and  Greeley  returned  from  Canada 
angrier  with  the  President  than  ever  for  making  a 
fool  of  him. 

In  utter  disregard  for  the  facts  he  continued  to 
demand  that  the  Government  bring  the  war  to  an  end. 
The  thing  which  made  his  attack  deadly  was  that  he 
was  rousing  the  bitterness  of  hopeless  sorrow  in  thou 
sands  of  homes  whose  loved  ones  had  fallen. 

Thoughtful  men  and  women  had  begun  to  ask  them 
selves  new  questions: 

"Is  not  the  price  we  are  paying  too  great?" 
491 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Can  any  cause  be  worth  this  ocean  of  tears,  this 
endless  deluge  of  blood?" 

The  President  must  answer  this  bitter  cry  with  the 
positive  assurance  that  he  would  make  peace  at  any 
moment  on  terms  consistent  with  the  Nation's  preserva 
tion  or  both  he  and  his  party  must  perish. 

He  determined  to  draw  from  Mr.  Davis  a  positive 

declaration   of   the  terms   on  which  the   South  would 

accept  peace.      He   dared   not  do   this   openly,    as    it 

^  would  be  a  confession  to  Europe  of  defeat  and  would 

lead  to  the  recognition  of  the  Confederacy. 

He  accordingly  sent  Colonel  Jaquess,  a  distinguished 
Methodist  clergyman  in  the  army,  and  J.  R.  Gilmore, 
of  the  Tribune,  on  a  secret  mission  to  Richmond  for 
this  purpose.  They  must  go  without  credentials  or 
authority,  as  private  individuals  and  risk  life  and 
liberty  in  the  undertaking. 

Both  men  promptly  accepted  the  mission  and  left 
for  Grant's  headquarters  to  ask  General  Lee  for  a 
pass  through  his  lines. 

The  Democratic  Party  was  now  a  militant  united 
force  inspired  by  the  Copperhead  leaders,  who  had  de 
termined  to  defeat  the  President  squarely  on  a  peace 
platform  and  put  General  McClellan  into  the  White 
House.  Behind  them  in  serried  lines  stood  the  power 
ful  Secret  Orders  clustered  around  the  Knights  of 
*  the  Golden  Circle. 

Positive  proofs  were  finally  laid  before  the  Presi 
dent  that  these  Societies  had  planned  an  uprising  on 
the  night  of  the  election  and  the  establishment  of  a 
Western  Confederacy. 

Edmunds,  the  President  of  the  Union  League,  handed 
him  the  names  of  the  leaders. 

492 


THE   DARKEST  HOUR 


"Now,  sir,  you  can  strike!"  he  urged. 

The  tall,  sorrowful  man  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"You  doubt  the  truth  of  these  statements?"  Ed 
munds  asked. 

"No.  They  are  too  true.  Let  sleeping  dogs  lie. 
One  revolution  at  a  time.  We  have  all  we  can  manage 
at  present.  If  we  win  the  election  they  won't  dare 
rise.  If  we  lose,  it's  all  over  anyhow — and  it  makes 
no  difference  what  they  do." 

With  patient  wisdom  he  refused  to  stir  the  danger 
ous  hornet's  nest. 

And  to  cap  the  climax  of  darkness,  Jubal  Early's 
army  suddenly  withdrew  from  Lee's  lines,  swept 
through  the  Shenandoah  Valley  and  invaded  Maryland 
and  Pennsylvania. 

With  three-quarters  of  a  million  blue  soldiers  under 
arms,  the  daring  men  in  grey  were  once  more  threaten 
ing  the  Capital.  They  seized  and  cut  the  Northern 
railroads,  burning  their  bridges  and  capturing  trains; 
they  threatened  Baltimore,  captured  Chambersburg, 
Pennsylvania,  burned  it,  spread  terror  throughout  the 
State  and  surrounding  territory,  and  brushing  past 
Lew  Wallace's  six  thousand  men  at  Monocacy, 
were  bearing  down  on  Washington  with  swift  ominous 
tread. 

It  was  incredible !  It  was  unthinkable,  and  yet 
the  reveille  of  Early's  drums  could  be  heard  from  the 
White  House  window. 

John  Bigelow,  our  Charge  d* Affaires  at  Paris,  had 
sent  warning  of  a  conversation  with  the  Emperor  of 
France,  at  which  the  President  had  only  smiled. 

"Lee  will  take  Washington,"  the  Emperor  had  de 
clared,  "and  then  I  shall  recognize  the  Confederacy. 

493 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


I  have  just  received  news  that  Lee  is  certain  to  take 
the  Capital." 

The  message  was  flashed  to  Grant  for  help.  The 
city  was  practically  at  Early's  mercy  if  he  should 
strike.  He  couldn't  hold  the  Capital,  of  course,  but 
if  he  took  it  even  for  twenty-four  hours  the  Govern 
ment  would  lose  all  prestige  and  standing  in  the  Courts 
of  Europe. 

For  twenty-four  hours  the  panic  in  Washington 
was  complete.  The  Government  clerks  were  rushed 
into  the  trenches  and  hastily  armed. 

Early  threw  one  shell  into  the  city,  which  crashed 
through  a  house,  his  cavalry  dashed  into  the  corporate 
limits  and  took  a  prisoner  and  later  burned  the  house 
of  Blair,  a  member  of  the  Cabinet. 

The  Sixth  Corps  arrived  from  Petersburg;  a  thou 
sand  men  were  killed  and  wounded  in  the  skirmishing 
of  two  days,  but  the  Capital  escaped  by  the  skin  of 
its  teeth. 

Grant  laconically  remarked: 

"If  Early  had  been  one  day  earlier  he  would  have 
entered  the  Capital." 

While  he  had  not  actually  taken  Washington,  Lee's 
strategy  was  a  masterly  stroke.  He  had  cleared  the 
Shenandoah  Valley,  which  was  his  granary,  and  enabled 
the  farmers  to  reap  their  crops.  He  had  showed  the 
world  that  his  army  was  still  so  terrible  a  weapon 
that  with  it  he  could  hold  Grant  at  bay,  drive  his 
enemy  from  the  Valley,  invade  two  Northern  States, 
burn  their  cities  and  destroy  their  railroads,  and  throw 
his  shells  into  Washington. 

A  wave  of  incredulous  sickening  despair  swept  the 
North.  If  this  could  be  done  after  three  and  a  half 

494 


THE   DARKEST   HOUR 


years  of  blood  and  tears  and  two  billions  of  dollars 
spent,  where   could  the  end   be? 

Early  had  done  in  Washington  what  neither  Mc 
Dowell,  McClellan,  Pope,  Burnside,  Hooker,  Meade 
nor  Grant  had  yet  succeeded  in  doing  for  Richmond —  y1* 
thrown  shells  into  the  city  and  taken  a  prisoner  from 
its  very  streets.  Had  he  arrived  a  day  earlier — in 
other  words,  had  not  Lew  Wallace's  gallant  little  army 
of  six  thousand  delayed  him  twenty-four  hours — he 
could  have  entered  the  city,  raided  the  Treasury  and 
burned  the  Capitol. 

Senator  Winter  was  not  slow  to  strike  the  blow 
for  which  he  had  been  eagerly  waiting  a  favorable 
moment.  He  succeeded  in  detaching  from  the  Presi 
dent  in  this  moment  of  panic  a  group  of  men  who  had 
stood  squarely  for  his  nomination  at  Baltimore.  He 
agreed  to  withdraw  Fremont's  name  if  they  would  in 
duce  the  President  to  withdraw  and  a  new  convention 
be  called. 

So  deep  was  the  depression,  so  black  the  outlook, 
so  certain  was  McClellan's  election,  that  the  members 
of  the  National  Republican  Executive  Committee  met 
and  conferred  with  this  Committee  of  traitors  to  their 
Chief. 

No  more  cowardly  and  contemptible  proposition 
was  ever  submitted  to  the  chosen  leader  of  a  great 
party.  It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Win 
ter  and  his  Radical  associates  could  stoop  to  it. 
They  were  theorists.  To  them  success  was  sec 
ondary.  They  would  have  gladly  and  joyfully  damned 
not  only  the  Union — they  would  have  damned  the 
world  to  save  their  theories.  But  that  his  own 
party  leaders  should  come  to  him  in  such  an  hour 

495 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


and  ask  him  to  withdraw  cut  the  great  patient  heart 
to  the  quick. 

He  agreed  to  consider  their  humiliating  proposition 
and  give  them  an  answer  in  two  weeks.  Nicolay,  his 
first  Secretary,  wrote  to  John  Hay,  who  was  in  Illinois : 

"DEAR  MAJOR:  Hell  is  to  pay.  The  politicians  have 
a  stampede  on  that  is  about  to  swamp  everything.  The 
National  Committee  are  here  to-day.  Raymond  thinks  a 
commission  to  Richmond  is  the  only  salt  to  save  us.  The 
President  sees  and  says  it  would  be  utter  ruin.  The  mat 
ter  is  now  undergoing  consultation.  Weak-kneed  damned 
fools  are  on  the  move  for  a  new  candidate  to  supplant  the 
President.  Everything  is  darkness  and  doubt  and  dis 
couragement.  Our  men  see  giants  in  the  airy  and  unsub 
stantial  shadows  of  the  opposition,  and  are  about  to  sur 
render  without  a  blow.  Come  to  Washington  on  the  first 
train.  Every  man  who  loves  the  Chief  must  lay  off  his 
coat  now  and  fight  to  the  last  ditch.  He's  too  big  and 
generous  to  be  trusted  alone  with  these  wolves.  He  is 
the  only  man  who  can  save  this  Nation,  and  we  must 
make  them  see  it." 

Worn  and  angry  after  the  long  discussion  with  his 
cowardly  advisers,  the  President  retired  to  his  bed 
room,  locked  the  door,  laid  down,  and  tried  to  rest. 
Opposite  the  lounge  on  which  he  lay  was  a  bureau  with 
a  swinging  mirror.  He  gazed  for  a  moment  at  his  long 
figure,  which  showed  full  length,  his  eye  resting  at  last 
on  the  deep  cut  lines  of  the  haggard  face.  Gradually 
two  separate  and  distinct  images  grew — one  behind 
the  other,  pale  and  deathlike  but  distinct.  He  looked 
in  wonder,  and  the  longer  he  looked  the  clearer  stood 
this  pale  second  reflection. 

496 


THE   DARKEST   HOUR 


"That's  funny !"  he  exclaimed. 

He  rose,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  walked  to  the  mirror, 
examining  it  curiously.  He  had  always  been  a  man 
of  visions — this  child  of  the  woods  and  open  fields. 

"I  wonder  if  it's  an  illusion?"  he  muttered.  "I'll 
try  again." 

He  returned  to  the  couch  and  lay  down.  Again  it 
grew  a  second  time  plainer  than  before,  if  possible. 
He  watched  for  a  long  time  with  a  feeling  of  awe. 

"I  wonder  if  I'm  looking  into  the  face  of  my  own  *• 
soul?"  he  mused. 

He  studied  this  second  image  with  keen  interest. 
It  was  fiyji  shades  paler  than  the  first.  The  thing  had 
happened  to  nim  once  before  and  his  wife  had  declared 
it  a  sign  that  he  would  be  elected  to  a  second  term,  / 
but  the  paleness  of  the  second  image  meant  that  he 
would  not  live  through  it.  It  was  uncanny.  He  rose 
and  paced  the  floor,  laid  down  again,  and  the  image 
vanished.  What  did  it  mean? 

Only  that  day  a  secret  service  man  had  come  to  warn 
him  of  a  new  plot  of  assassination  and  beg  him  to 
double  the  guard. 

"What  is  the  use,  my  dear  boy,  in  setting  up  the 
gap  when  the  fence  is  down  all  around?" 

"Remember,  sir,  they  shot  a  hole  through  your  hat 
one  night  last  week  on  your  way  to  the  Soldiers' 
Home." 

"Well,  what  of  it?  If  a  man  really  makes  up  his 
mind  to  kill  me  he  can  do  it " 

"You  can  take  precautions." 

"But  I  can't  shut  myself  up  in  an  iron  box — now, 
can  I?  If  I  am  killed  I  can  die  but  once.  To  live  in 
constant  dread  of  it  is  to  die  over  and  over  again.  I 

497 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


decline  to  die  until  the  time  comes — away  with  your 
extra  guards !  I've  got  too  many  now.  They  bother 
me." 

He  threw  off  his  depression  and  took  up  a  volume 
of  Artemus  Ward's  funny  sayings  to  refresh  his  soul 
with  their  quaint  humor.  He  must  laugh  or  die.  He 
had  promised  to  see  Betty  Winter  with  a  friend  who 
had  a  petition  to  present  at  ten  o'clock.  He  would 
rest  until  she  came. 

John  Vaughan  had  insisted  on  her  coming  at  this 
unusual  hour.  She  protested,  but  he  declared  the 
chances  of  success  in  asking  for  his  father's  release 
would  be  infinitely  better  if  she  took  advantage  of  the 
President's  good  nature  and  saw  him  alone  at  night 
when  they  would  not  be  interrupted. 

As  they  neared  the  White  House  grounds,  crossing 
the  little  park  on  the  north  side,  Betty's  nervousness 
became  unbearable.  She  stopped  and  put  her  hand 
on  John's  arm. 

"Let's  wait  until  to-morrow?"  she  pleaded. 

"The  President  is  expecting  us " 

"I'll  send  him  word  we  couldn't  come." 

"But,  why?" 

She  hesitated  and  glanced  at  him  uneasily: 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  just  nervous.  I  don't  feel  equal 
to  the  strain  of  such  an  interview  to-night.  It  means 
so  much  to  you.  It  means  so  much  to  me  now  that 
love  rules  my  life " 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  drew  her  into  the 
friendly  shadows  beside  the  walk. 

"Love  does  rule  life,  doesn't  it?" 

"Absolutely.  I'm  frightened  when  I  realize  it,"  she 
sighed. 

498 


THE   DARKEST  HOUR 


"You  are  all  mine  now?  In  life,  in  death,  through 
evil  report  and  good  report?" 

"In  life,  in  death,  through  evil  report  and  good  re 
port yours  forever,  dearest!" 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  in  silence. 
She  could  feel  him  trembling  with  deep  emotion. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  nervous  about  then,"  he 
said,  reassuringly,  as  his  arms  relaxed.  "Come,  we'll 
hurry.  I  want  to  send  a  message  to  my  father  to-night 
announcing  his  release." 

At  the  entrance  to  the  White  House  grounds  they 
passed  a  man  who  shot  a  quick  glance  at  John,  and 
Betty  thought  his  head  moved  in  a  nod  of  approval 
or  recognition. 

"You  know  him?"   she  asked  nervously. 

"One  of  Baker's  men,  I  think — attempt  on  the  Presi 
dent's  life  last  week.  They've  doubled  the  guard,  no 
doubt." 

They  passed  another,  strolling  carelessly  from  the 
shadows  of  the  white  pillars  of  the  portico. 

"They  seem  to  be  everywhere  to-night,"  John 
laughed  carelessly. 

The  White  House  door  was  open  and  they  passed 
into  the  hall  and  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  Executive 
Chamber  without  challenge.  Little  Tad,  the  Presi 
dent's  son,  who  ran  the  House  to  suit  himself  at  times, 
was  in  his  full  dress  suit  of  a  lieutenant  of  the  army 
and  had  ordered  the  guard  to  attend  a  minstrel  show 
he  was  giving  in  the  attic. 

The  President  had  agreed  to  meet  Betty  in  his 
office  at  ten  o'clock  and  told  her  to  bring  her  friend 
right  upstairs  and  wait  if  he  were  not  on  time. 

They  sat  down  and  waited  five  minutes  in  awkward 
499 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


silence.  Betty  was  watching  the  strange  glittering 
expression  in  John  Vaughan's  eyes  with  increasing 
alarm. 

She  heard  a  muffled  footfall  in  the  hall,  stepped 
quickly  to  the  door,  and  saw  the  man  they  had  passed 
at  the  entrance  to  the  grounds. 

She  returned  trembling. 

"The  man  we  passed  at  the  gate  is  in  that  hall," 
she  whispered. 

"What  of  it?"  was  the  careless  answer.  "Baker's 
secret  service  men  come  and  go  when  they  please 
here " 

He  paused  and  glanced  at  the  door. 

"He  has  his  eye  on  us  maybe,"  he  added,  with  a 
a  little  laugh. 

He  studied  Betty's  flushed  face  for  a  moment, 
curiously  hesitated  as  if  about  to  speak,  changed  his 
mind,  and  was  silent.  He  drew  his  watch  from  his 
pocket  and  looked  at  it. 

"I've  ordered  a  carriage  to  wait  for  you  at  the  gate 
at  a  quarter  past  ten,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  forgot  to 
tell  you." 

"Why — it  may  take  us  longer  than  half  an  hour?" 

"That's  just  it.  We  may  be  talking  two  hours. 
Such  things  can't  be  threshed  out  in  a  minute.  You 
can  introduce  me,  say  a  good  word,  and  leave  us  to 
fight  it  out " 

"I  want  to   stay,"   she  interrupted. 

"Nonsense,  dear,  it  may  take  hours.  Besides,  I  may 
have  some  things  to  say  to  the  President,  and  he  some 
things  to  say  to  me  that  it  were  better  a  sweet  girl's 
ears  should  not  hear " 

"That's  exactly  what  I  wish  to  prevent,  John,  dear," 
500 


THE   DARKEST  HOUR 


she  pleaded.  "You  must  be  careful  and  say  nothing 
to  offend  the  President.  It  means  too  much.  We 
must  win." 

"I'll  be  wise  in  the  choice  of  words.  But  you  mustn't 
stay,  dear.  I'm  not  a  child.  I  don't  need  a  chape- 
rone." 

"But  you  may  need  a  friend " 

"He  does  wield  the  power   of  kings — doesn't  he?" 

"With  the  tenderness   and  love  of  a   father,  yes." 

"And  yet  I've  wondered,"  he  went  on  in  a  curious 
cold  tone,  "why  he  hasn't  been  killed — when  the  death 
of  one  man  would  end  this  carnival  of  murder " 

"John,  how  can  you  say  such  things?"  Betty 
gasped. 

"It's  true,  dear,"  he  answered  calmly.  "This  man's 
will  alone  has  prevented  peace  and  prevents  it  now. 
The  soldiers  on  both  sides  joke  with  one  another  across 
the  picket  lines.  They  get  together  and  play  cards 
at  night.  Before  the  battle  begins,  our  boys  call  out: 

"  'Get  into  your  holes,  now,  Johnnie,  we've  got  to 
shoot.' 

"Left  to  themselves,  the  soldiers  would  end  this 
war  in  thirty  minutes.  It's  the  one  man  at  the  top 
who  won't  let  them.  It's  hellish — it's  hellish " 

"And  you  would  justify  an  assassin?"  Betty  asked 
breathlessly. 

"Who  is  an  assassin,  dear?"  he  demanded  tensely. 
"The  man  who  wields  a  knife  or  the  tyrant  who  calls 
the  fanatic  into  being?  Brutus  or  Caesar,  William 
Tell  or  Gessler?  Resistance  to  tyrants  is  obedience 
to  God " 

"John,  John — how  can  you  say  such  things — you 

don't  believe  in  murder " 

501 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"No!"  he  breathed  fiercely.  "I  don't  now.  I  used 
to  until  I  had  a  revelation — " 

He  stopped  short  as  if  strangled. 

"Revelation — what  do  you  mean?"  Betty  whis 
pered,  watching  his  every  movement  with  growing 
terror. 

He  looked  at  her  with  eyes  glittering. 

"I  didn't  want  to  tell  you  this,"  he  began  slowly. 
"I  meant  to  keep  the  black  thing  hidden  in  my  own 
soul.  But  you'll  understand  better  if  I  speak.  I 
killed  Ned  Vaughan  with  my  own  hands " 

"You're  mad "  Betty  shivered. 

"I  wish  I  were — no — I  was  never  sane  before  that 
flash  of  red  from  hell  showed  me  the  truth — showed 
me  what  I  was  doing.  We  fought  in  the  darkness  of 
a  night  attack,  hand  to  hand,  like  two  maddened  beasts. 
He  ran  me  through  with  his  sword  and  I  sent  the  last 
ball  left  in  my  revolver  crashing  through  his  breast. 
In  the  glare  of  that  shot  I  saw  his  face — the  face 
of  my  brother !  I  caught  him  in  my  arms  as  he  fell 
and  held  him  while  the  life  blood  ebbed  away  through 
the  hole  I  had  torn  near  his  heart.  And  then  I  saw 
what  I'd  been  doing,  saw  it  all  as  it  is — war — brother 
murdering  his  brother — the  shout  and  the  tumult,  the 
drums  and  bugles,  the  daring  and  heroism  of  it  all, 
just  that  and  nothing  more — brother  cutting  his 
brother's  throat " 

His  head  sank  into  his  hands  in  a  sob  that  strangled 
speech. 

Betty  slipped  her  arm  tenderly  around  his  shoulder 
and  stroked  the  heavy  black  hair. 

"But   you   didn't   know,   dear — you   wouldn't   have 

fired  that  shot  if  you  had " 

502 


THE   DARKEST  HOUR 


He  lifted  himself  suddenly  and  recovered  his  self- 
control. 

"No.  That's  just  it,"  he  answered  bitterly.  "I 
wouldn't  have  done  it  had  I  known — nor  would  he,  had 
he  known.  But  I  should  have  seen  before  that  every 
torn  and  mangled  body  I  had  counted  in  the  reckoning 
of  the  glory  of  battle  was  some  other  man's  brother, 
some  other  mother's  boy " 

He  paused  and  drew  himself  suddenly  erect: 

"Well  I'm  awake  now — I  know  and  see  things  as 
they  are!" 

His  hand  unconsciously  felt  for  his  revolver,  and 
Betty  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  with  a  smoth 
ered  cry  of  horror: 

"Merciful  God — John — my  darling — you  are  mad — 
what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Why  nothing,  dear,"  he  protested,  "nothing!  I'm 
simply  going  to  ask  the  President  whose  power  is  su 
preme  to  give  my  father  a  fair  trial  or  release  him— 
that's  all — you  needn't  stay  longer — the  carriage  is 
waiting.  I  can  introduce  myself  and  plead  my  own 
cause.  If  he's  the  fair,  great-hearted  man  you  believe, 
he'll  see  that  justice  is  done " 

"You  are  going  to  kill  the  President !"  Betty  gasped. 

"Nonsense — but  if  I  were — what  is  the  death  of  one 
man  if  thousands  live?  I  saw  sixty  thousand  men  in 
blue  fall  in  thirty  days — two  thousand  a  day — besides 
those  who  wore  the  grey.  At  Cold  Harbor  I  saw  ten 
thousand  of  my  brethren  fall  in  twenty  minutes.  Why 
should  you  gasp  over  the  idea  that  one  man  may  die 
whose  death  would  stop  this  slaughter?" 

"John,  you're  mad!"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him 
desperatety.  "You're  mad,  I  tell  you.  You've  lost 

503 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


your  reason.     Come  with  me,  dear — come  at  once " 

"No.    I  was  never  more  sane  than  now,"  he  answered 

firmly. 

"Then  I'll  warn  the  President " 

He  held  her  with  cruel  force : 

"You  understand  that  if  it's  true,  my  arrest,  court- 
martial  and  death  follow?" 

"No.    I'll  warn  him  not  to  come.    I  alone  know " 

She  broke  his  grip  on  her  arm  and  started  toward 

the   door.     He  lifted  his  hand  in  quick  commanding 

gesture : 

"Wait !  my  men  are  in  that  hall — it's  his  life  or  mine 

now.     You  can  take  your  choice " 

The  girl's  figure  suddenly  straightened: 

"Take  your  men  out  and  go  with  them  at  once !" 

"No.     If  he  does  justice,  I  may  spare  his  life.     If 

he  does  not " 


"You  shall  not  see  him- 


"It's  my  life  or  his — I  warn  you " 

"Then  it's  yours — I  choose  my  country!" 
She  walked  with  quick,  firm  step  to  the  door  leading 
into  the  family  apartments  of  the  President.  On  the 
threshold  her  feet  faltered.  She  grasped  the  door  fac 
ing,  turned,  and  saw  him  standing  with  folded  arms 
watching  her — with  the  eyes  of  a  madman.  Her  face 
went  white.  She  lifted  her  hand  to  her  heart  and  slowly 
stumbled  back  into  his  arms. 

"God  have  mercy!"  she  sobbed.     "I'm  just  a  woman 

— my  love — my  darling — I — I — can't — kill  you " 

Her  arms  relaxed  and  she  would  have  fallen  to  the 
floor  had  he  not  caught  the  fainting  form  and  carried 
her  into  the  hall. 

Two  men  were  at  his  side  instantly. 
504 


THE  DARKEST  HOVE 


"Take  Miss  Winter  downstairs,"  he  whispered. 
"There's  a  carriage  at  the  gate.  Bring  it  quietly  to 
the  door — one  of  you  take  her  to  the  Senator's  home. 
The  other  must  return  here  immediately  and  wait  my 
orders.  There's  no  guard  in  this  outer  hall  at  night. 
The  one  inside  is  with  the  boy.  Keep  out  of  sight  if 
any  one  passes." 

The  men  obeyed  without  a  word  and  John  Vaughan 
stepped  quickly  back  into  the  Executive  office,  drew 
the  short  curtains  across  the  window,  turned  the  lights 
on  full,  examined  his  revolver,  and  sat  down  in  care 
less  attitude  beside  the  President's  desk.  He  could 
hear  his  heavy  step  already  approaching  the  door. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

THE    ASSASSIN 

John  Vaughan's  face  paled  with  the  sudden  realiza 
tion  of  the  tremendous  deed  he  was  about  to  do.  It 
had  seemed  the  only  solution  of  the  Nation's  life  and 
his  own,  an  hour  ago.  The  air  of  Washington  reeked 
with  deadly  hatred  of  the  President.  Every  politician 
who  could  not  control  his  big,  straightforward,  honest 
mind  was  his  enemy.  The  gloom  which  shrouded  the 
country  over  Grant's  losses  and  the  failure  of  his 
campaign  had  set  every  hound  yelping  at  his  heels  in 
full  cry.  He  spent  much  of  his  time  in  the  hospitals 
visiting  and  cheering  the  wounded  soldiers.  These  men 
were  his  friends.  They  believed  in  his  honesty,  his 
gentleness  and  his  humanity,  and  yet  so  deadly  had 
grown  the  passions  of  war  and  so  bitter  the  madness 
of  political  prejudice  that  the  majority  of  the  wounded 
men  were  going  to  vote  against  him  in  the  approaching 
election. 

An  informal  vote  taken  in  Carver  Hospital  had 
shown  the  amazing  result  of  three  to  one  in  favor  of 
McClellan! 

John  Vaughan,  in  his  fevered  imagination,  had  felt 
that  he  was  rendering  a  heroic  service  to  the  people 
in  removing  the  one  obstacle  to  peace.  The  President 
was  the  only  man  who  could  possibly  defeat  McClellan 

506 


THE   ASSASSIN 


and  continue  the  war.  He  was  denounced  by  the  op 
position  as  usurper,  tyrant,  and  dictator.  He  was 
denounced  by  thousands  of  men  in  his  own  party  as 
utterly  unfit  to  wield  the  power  he  possessed. 

And  yet,  as  he  heard  the  slow,  heavy  footfall  ap 
proaching  the  door,  a  moment  of  agonizing  doubt 
gripped  his  will  and  weakened  his  arm.  His  eye  rested 
on  a  worn  thumbed  copy  of  the  Bible  which  lay  open 
on  the  desk.  This  man,  who  was  not  a  church  mem 
ber,  in  the  loneliness  of  his  awful  responsibilities,  had 
been  searching  there  for  guidance  and  inspiration. 
There  was  a  pathos  in  the  thought  that  found  his 
inner  conscience  through  the  mania  that  possessed  him. 

Well,  he'd  test  him.  He  would  try  this  tyrant  here 
alone  before  the  judgment  bar  of  his  soul — condemn 
him  to  death  or  permit  him  to  live,  as  he  should  prove 
true  or  false  to  his  mighty  trust. 

His  hand  touched  his  revolver  again  and  he  set 
his  square  jaws  firmly. 

The   tall   figure   entered    and    closed   the   door. 

A  flash  of  blind  rage  came  from  the  depths  of  John 
Vaughan's  dark  eyes  at  the  first  sight  of  him.  He 
moved  forward  a  step  and  his  hand  trembled  in  a 
desperate  instinctive  desire  to  kill.  He  was  a  soldier. 
His  enemy  was  before  him  advancing.  To  kill  had 
become  a  habit.  It  seemed  the  one  natural  thing  to  do. 

He  stopped  with  a  shock  of  surprise  as  the  Presi 
dent  turned  his  haggard  eyes  in  a  dazed  way  and  looked 
about  the  room. 

The  light  fell  full  on  his  face  increasing  its  ghost 
like  pathetic  expression.  The  story  of  anxiety  and 
suffering  was  burnt  in  letters  of  fire  that  left  his 
features  a  wrinkled  mask  of  grey  ashes.  The  drooping 

507 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


eyelids  were  swollen,  and  dark  bags  hung  beneath 
them.  The  muscles  of  his  massive  jaws  were  flaccid, 
the  lines  about  his  large  expressive  mouth  terrible  in 
their  eloquence.  His  sombre  eyes  seemed  to  gaze  on 
the  world  with  the  anguish  of  millions  in  their  depths. 

For  a  moment  John  Vaughan  was  held  in  a  spell  by 
the  unexpected  apparition. 

"You  are  alone,  sir?"  the  quiet  voice  slowly  asked. 

"Yes." 

"I  had  expected  Miss  Winter " 

"She  came  with  me  and  was  compelled  to  leave." 

"Oh — will  you  pull  up  a  chair." 

The  tall  form  dropped  wearily  at  his  desk.  His 
voice  had  a  far-away  expression  in  its  tones. 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"My  name  is  Vaughan — John  Vaughan " 

The  dark  head  was  lifted  with  interest: 

"The  brother  of  Ned  Vaughan,  who  escaped  from 
prison?" 

John  nodded: 

"The  son  of  Dr.  Richard  Vaughan,  of  Palmyra, 
Missouri." 

"Then  you're  our  boy,  fighting  with  Grant's  army — 
yes,  I  heard  of  you  when  your  brother  was  in  trouble. 
You've  been  ill,  I  see — wounded,  of  course?" 

"Yes." 

The  President  rose  and  took  his  visitor's  hand, 
clasping  it  with  both  his  own: 

"There's  nothing  I  won't  do  for  one  of  our  wounded 
boys  if  I  can — what  is  it?" 

"My  mother  writes  me  that  my  father  has  been  ar 
rested  without  warrant,  is  held  in  prison  without  bail 

and  denied  the  right  to  trial " 

508 


THE   ASSASSIN 


He  paused  and  leaned  on  the  desk,  trembling  with 
excitement  which  had  increased  as  he  spoke. 

"I  have  come  to  ask  you  for  justice — that  he  shall 
be  confronted  by  his  accusers  in  open  court  and  given 
a  fair  trial " 

A  frown  deepened  the  shadows  in  the  dark,  kindly 
face: 

"And  for  what  was  he  arrested?" 

"For  exercising  the  right  of  free  speech.  In  a  public 
address  he  denounced  the  war " 

The  President  shook  his  head  sorrowfully: 

"You  see,  my  boy,  your  house  is  divided  against 
itself — the  symbol  in  the  family  group  of  our  unhappy 
country.  Of  course,  I  didn't  know  of  this  arrest.  Such 
things  hurt  me,  so  I  refuse  to  know  of  them  unless 
I  must.  They  tell  me  that  Seward  and  Stanton 
have  arrested  without  warrant  thirty-five  thousand 
men.  I  hope  this  is  an  exaggeration.  Still  it  may  be 
true " 

He  stopped,  sighed,  and  shook  his  head  again: 

"But  come,  now,  my  son,  and  put  yourself  in  my 
place.  What  can  I  do?  I've  armed  two  million  men 
and  spend  four  millions  a  day  to  fight  the  South  be 
cause  they  try  to  secede  and  disrupt  the  Union.  My 
opponents  in  the  North,  taking  advantage  of  our  sor 
rows,  harangue  the  people  and  elect  a  hostile  legis 
lature  in  Indiana,  Ohio,  and  Illinois.  They  are  about 
to  pass  an  ordinance  of  secession  and  strike  the  Union 
in  the  back.  If  secession  is  wrong  in  the  South  it  is 
surely  wrong  in  the  North.  Shall  I  fight  secession  in 
the  South  and  merely  argue  politely  with  it  here?  In 
stead  of  shooting  these  men,  I've  consented  to  a  more 
merciful  thing,  I  just  let  Seward  and  Stanton  lock 

509 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


them  up  until  the  war  is  over  and  then  I'll  turn  them 
all  loose. 

"Understand,  my  boy,  I  don't  shirk  responsibility. 
No  Cabinet  or  Congress  could  conduct  a  successful 
war.  There  must  be  a  one  man  power.  I  have  been 
made  that  power  by  the  people.  I  am  using  it  rever 
ently  but  firmly.  And  I  am  backed  by  the  prayers, 
the  good  will  and  the  confidence  of  the  people 
— the  silent  millions  whom  I  don't  see,  but  love  and 
trust. 

"This  war  was  not  of  my  choosing.  Once  begun, 
it  must  be  fought  to  the  end  and  the  Nation  saved.  It 
will  then  be  proved  that  among  free  men  there  can  be 
no  successful  appeal  from  the  ballot  to  the  bullet,  and 
that  they  who  take  such  appeal  are  sure  to  lose  their 
case  and  pay  the  cost.  To  preserve  the  life  of  the  Con 
stitution  I  must  strain  some  of  its  provisions  in  time 
of  war " 

"And  you  will  not  interfere  to  give  these  accused  men 
a  trial?"  John  Vaughan  interrupted  in  hard  tones. 

"I  cannot,  my  boy,  I  dare  not  interfere.  The  civil 
law  must  be  suspended  temporarily  in  such  cases.  I 
cannot  shoot  a  soldier  for  desertion  and  allow  the 
man  to  go  free  who,  by  denouncing  the  war,  causes  him 
to  desert.  It  cuts  to  the  very  heart  of  the  Nation — 
its  life  is  involved " 

He  rose  again  and  paced  the  floor,  turning  his  back 
on  his  visitor  in  utter  unconsciousness  of  the  dangerous 
glitter  in  his  eyes. 

He  paused  and  placed  his  big  hand  gently  on  John's 
arm: 

"I  know  in  doing  this  I  am  wielding  a  dangerous 
power — the  power  of  kings — not  because  I  love  it,  but 

510 


THE   ASSASSIN 


because  I  must  save  my  country.  And  I'm  the  humblest 
man  who  walks  God's  earth  to-night !" 

In  spite  of  his  bitterness,  the  simplicity  and  honesty 
of  the  President  found  John  Vaughan's  heart.  No 
vain  or  cruel  or  selfish  man  could  talk  or  feel  like  that. 
In  the  glow  of  his  eager  thought  the  ashen  look  of  his 
face  disappeared  and  it  became  radiant  with  warmth 
and  tenderness.  In  dreamy,  passionate  tones  he  went 
on  as  if  talking  to  convince  himself  he  must  not  despair. 
The  younger  man  for  the  moment  was  swept  resistlessly 
on  by  the  spell  of  his  eloquence. 

"They  are  always  asking  of  me  impossible  things. 
Now  that  I  shall  remove  Grant  from  command.  I 
know  that  his  battles  have  been  bloody.  Yet  how  else 
can  we  win?  The  gallant,  desperate  South  has  only  a 
handful  of  men,  ragged  and  half  starved,  yet  they  are 
standing  against  a  million  and  I  have  exhaustless  mil 
lions  behind  these.  With  Lee  they  seem  invincible  and 
every  move  of  his  ragged  men  sends  a  shiver  of  horror 
and  of  admiration  through  the  North.  Yet,  if  Grant 
fights  on  he  must  win.  He  will  wear  Lee  out — and  that 
is  the  only  way  he  can  beat  him. 

"Besides,  his  plan  is  bigger  than  the  single  campaign 
against  Richmond.  There's  a  grim  figure  at  the  head 
of  a  hundred  thousand  men  fighting  his  way  inch  by 
inch  toward  Atlanta.  If  Sherman  should  win  and  take 
Atlanta,  Lee's  army  will  starve  and  the  end  is  sure.  I 
can't  listen  to  this  clamor.  I  will  not  remove  Grant — 
though  I've  reasons  for  believing  at  this  moment  that 
he  may  vote  for  McClellan  for  President. 

"Don't  think,  my  son,  that  all  this  blood  and  suffer 
ing  is  not  mine.  It  is.  Every  shell  that  screams  from 
those  big  guns  crashes  through  my  heart.  The  groans 

511 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


of  the  wounded,  the  sighs  of  the  dying,  the  tears  of 
widows  and  orphans,  of  sisters  and  mothers — all — blue 
and  grey — they  are  mine.  I  see  and  hear  it  all,  feel  all, 
suffer  all. 

"No  man  who  lives  to-day  is  responsible  for  this  war. 
I  could  not  have  prevented  it,  nor  could  Jefferson 
Davis.  We  are  in  the  grip  of  mighty  forces  sweeping 
on  from  the  centuries.  We  are  fighting  the  battle  of 
the  ages. 

"But  our  country's  worth  it  if  we  can  only  save  it. 
Out  of  this  agony  and  tears  will  be  born  a  united 
people.  We  have  always  been  cursed  with  the  impos 
sible  contradiction  of  negro  slavery. 

"There  has  never  been  a  real  Democracy  in  the  world 
because  there  has  never  been  one  without  the  shadow 
of  slavery.  We  must  build  here  a  real  government  of 
the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people.  It's  not  a 
question  merely  of  the  fate  of  four  millions  of  black 
slaves.  It's  a  question  of  the  destiny  of  millions 
of  freemen.  I  hear  the  tread  of  coming  genera 
tions  of  their  children  on  this  continent.  Their 
destiny  is  in  your  hand  and  mine — a  free  Nation 
without  a  slave — the  hope,  refuge  and  inspiration  of 
the  world. 

"This  Union  that  we  must  save  will  be  a  beacon 
light  on  the  shores  of  time  for  mankind.  It  will  be 
worth  all  the  blood  and  all  the  tears  we  shall  give  for 
it.  The  grandeur  of  our  sacrifice  will  be  the  birthright 
of  our  children's  children.  It  will  be  the  end  of  sec 
tionalism.  We  can  never  again  curse  and  revile  one 
another,  as  we  have  in  the  past.  We've  written  our 
character  in  blood  for  all  time.  We've  met  in  battle. 
The  Northern  man  knows  the  Southerner  is  not  a  brag- 

512 


THE   ASSASSIN 


gart.  The  Southerner  knows  the  Yankee  is  not  a 
coward. 

"There  can  be  but  one  tragedy,  my  boy,  that  can 
have  no  ray  of  light — and  that  is  that  all  this  blood 
should  have  flowed  in  vain,  all  these  brave  men  died 
for  nought,  that  the  old  curse  shall  remain,  the  Union 
be  dismembered  into  broken  sections  and  on  future 
bloody  fields  their  battles  be  fought  over  again " 

He  paused  and  drew  a  deep  breath: 

"This  is  the  fear  that's  strangling  me !  For  as  surely 
as  George  B.  McClellan  is  elected  President,  surrounded 
by  the  men  who  at  present  control  his  party,  just  so 
surely  will  the  war  end  in  compromise,  failure  and 
hopeless  tragedy " 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  John  asked  sharply. 

"Because  standing  here  on  this  very  spot,  before  the 
battle  of  Gettysburg  I  offered  him  the  Presidency  if 
he  would  preside  at  a  great  mass  meeting  of  his  party 
and  guarantee  to  save  the  Union.  I  offered  to  efface 
myself  and  give  up  the  dearest  ambition  of  my  soul  to 
heal  the  wounds  of  my  people — and  he  refused " 

"Refused?"  John  gasped. 

"Yes." 

The  younger  man  gazed  at  the  haggard  face  for 
a  moment  through  dimmed  eyes,  sank  slowly  to  a 
seat  and  covered  his  face  in  his  hands  in  a  cry  of 
despair ! 

The  reaction  was  complete  and  his  collapse  utter. 

The  President  gazed  at  the  bent  figure  with  sorrow 
ful  amazement,  and  touched  his  head  gently  with  the 
big  friendly  hand: 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  my  boy?  I'm  the  only 
man  to  despair.  You're  just  a  captain  in  the  army. 

513 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


If  to  be  the  head  of  hell  is  as  hard  as  what  I've  had 
to  undergo  here  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  pity 
Satan  himself.  And  if  there's  a  man  out  of  hell  who 
suffers  more  than  I  do,  I  pity  him.  But  it's  my  burden 
and  I  try  to  bear  it.  I  wish  I  had  only  yours !" 

John  Vaughan  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threw  his 
hands  above  his  head  in  a  gesture  of  anguish: 

"O  my  God,  you  don't  understand !" 

He  quickly  crossed  the  space  that  separated  them 
and  faced  the  President  with  grim  determination: 

"But  I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  truth  now  and  you 
can  do  what  you  think's  right.  In  the  last  fight  before 
Petersburg  I  killed  my  brother  in  a  night  attack  and 
held  his  dying  body  in  my  arms.  I  think  I  must  have 
gone  mad  that  night.  Anyhow,  when  I  lay  in  the 
hospital  recovering  from  my  wounds,  I  got  the  letter 
about  my  father  and  made  up  my  mind  to  kill 
you " 

He  paused,  but  the  sombre  eyes  gave  no  sign — they 
seemed  to  be  gazing  on  the  shores  of  eternity. 

"And  I  came  here  to-night  for  that  purpose — my 
men  are  in  that  hall  now!" 

He  stopped  and  folded  his  hands  deliberately,  wait 
ing  for  his  judge  to  speak. 

A  long  silence  fell  between  them.  The  tall,  sorrow 
ful  man  was  looking  at  him  with  a  curious  expression 
of  wonder  and  self  pity. 

"So  you  came  here  to-night  to  kill  me?" 

"Yes." 

Again  a  long  silence — the  deep  eyes  looking,  looking 
with  their  strange  questioning  gaze. 

"Well,"  the  younger  man  burst  out  at  last,  "what 
is  my  fate?  I  deserve  it.  Even  generosity  and  gentle- 

514 


THE   ASSASSIN 


ness  have  their  limit.      I've  passed  it.     And  I've  no 
desire  to  escape." 

The  kindly  hand  was  lifted  to  John  Vaughan's 
shoulder : 

"Why  didn't  you  do  it?" 

"Because  for  the  first  time  you  made  me  see  things 
as  you  see  them — I  got  a  glimpse  of  the  inside " 

"Then  I  won  you— didn't  I?"  the  President  cried 
with  elation.  "I've  been  talking  to  you  just  to  keep 
my  courage  up — just  to  save  my  own  soul  from  the 
hell  of  despair.  But  you've  lifted  me  up.  If  I  can 
win  you  I  can  win  the  others  if  I  could  only  get  their 
ear.  All  I  need  is  a  little  time.  And  I'm  going  to 
fight  for  it.  Every  act  of  my  life  in  this  great  office 
will  stand  the  test  of  time  because  I've  put  my  im 
mortal  soul  into  the  struggle  without  one  thought  of 
saving  myself. 

"I've  told  you  the  truth,  and  the  truth  has  turned 
a  murderer  into  my  friend.  If  only  the  people  can 
know — can  have  time  to  think,  I'll  win.  You  thought 
me  an  ambitious  tyrant — now,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Great  God! — I  had  my  ambitions,  yes — as  every 
American  boy  worth  his  salt  has.  And  I  dared  to 
dream  this  vision  of  the  White  House — I,  the  humblest 
of  the  humble,  born  in  a  lowly  pioneer's  cabin  in  the 
woods  of  Kentucky.  My  dream  came  true,  and  where 
is  its  glory?  Ashes  and  blood.  And  I,  to  whom  the 
sight  of  blood  is  an  agony  unendurable,  have  lived  with 
aching  heart  through  it  all  and  envied  the  dead  their 
rest  on  your  battlefields " 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  fixed  John  with  a  keen 
look: 

515 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"You'll  stand  by  me,  now,  boy,  through  thick  and 
thin?" 

"I'd  count  it  an  honor  to  die  for  you " 

"All  right.  I  give  you  the  chance.  I'm  going  to 
send  you  on  a  dangerous  mission.  I  need  but  two 
things  to  sweep  the  country  in  this  election  and  pre 
serve  the  Union — a  single  big  victory  in  the  field  to 
lift  the  people  out  of  the  dumps  and  make  them  see 
things  as  they  are,  and  a  declar^*/6n  from  Mr.  Davis 
that  there  can  be  no  peace  safe  in  division.  I  know 
that  he  holds  that  position,  but  the  people  in  the  North 
doubt  it.  I've  sent  Jaquess  and  Gilmore  there  to 
obtain  his  declaration.  Technically  they  are  spies. 
They  may  be  executed  or  imprisoned  and  held  to  the 
end  of  the  war.  They  go  as  private  citizens  of  the 
North  who  desire  peace. 

"I  want  another  man  in  Richmond  whose  identity  will 
be  unknown  to  report  the  results  of  that  meeting  in 
case  they  are  imprisoned.  You  must  go  as  a  spy  at 
the  double  risk  of  your  life " 

"I'm  ready,  sir,"  was  the  quick  response. 

The  big  hand  fumbled  the  black  beard  a  moment: 

"You  doubtless  said  bitter  things  in  Washington 
when  you  returned?" 

"Many  of  them." 

"Then  you  were  approached  by  the  leaders  of 
Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle?" 

"Yes." 

"Good!  You're  the  man  I  want  without  a  doubt. 
You  can  use  their  signs  and  pass  words  in  Richmond. 
Besides,  you  have  a  Southern  accent.  Your  chances 
of  success  are  great.  I  want  you  to  leave  here  in  an 
hour.  Go  straight  through  as  a  scout  and  spy  in 

51(5 


THE   ASSASSIN 


Confederate  uniform.  If  Jaquess  and  Gilmore  are 
allowed  to  return  and  tell  their  story — all  right,  your 
work  with  them  is  done.  If  they  are  imprisoned,  get 
through  the  lines  to  Grant's  headquarters,  report  this 
fact  and  Mr.  Davis'  answer,  and  it  will  be  doubly  ef 
fective — you  understand?" 

"Perfectly,   sir."  , 

"That's  your  jfirst  job.  But  I  want  you  to  go  to 
Richmond  for  a  dov  Me  purpose — to  take  the  train  for 
Atlanta,  get  through  the  lines  and  give  a  message  to 
a  man  down  South  I've  been  thinking  about  for  the 
past  month.  The  world  has  forgotten  Sherman  in  the 
roar  of  the  great  battles  Grant  has  fought.  I  haven't. 
Slowly  but  surely  his  grim  figure  has  been  growing 
taller  on  the  horizon  as  the  smoke  lifts  from  each  of 
his  fights.  Grant  says  he  is  our  biggest  general.  Only 
a  great  man  could  say  that  about  a  subordinate  com 
mander.  That's  another  reason  I  won't  listen  to  people 
who  demand  Grant's  removal. 

"Sherman  is  now  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  in  Georgia 
before  Atlanta.  His  road  is  being  cut  behind  him 
every  other  day.  You  might  be  weeks  trying  to  get 
to  him  by  Chattanooga.  The  trains  run  through 
from  Richmond.  I  want  you  to  reach  him  quick,  and 
give  him  a  message  from  me.  I  can't  send  a  written 
order.  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  Grant.  I'll  give  you  cre 
dentials  that  he'll  accept  that  will  cost  you  your  life 
in  Richmond  if  their  meaning  is  discovered. 

"Tell  General  Sherman  that  if  he  can  take  Atlanta 
the  blow  will  thrill  the  Nation,  carry  the  election,  and 
save  the  Union.  Grant  is  deadlocked  at  Petersburg 
and  may  be  there  all  winter.  If  he  can  fight  at  once 
and  give  us  a  victory,  it's  all  that's  needed.  I'll  send 

517 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


him  an  order  to  strike.  Tell  him  to  destroy  it  if  he 
wins.  If  he  loses — I'll  publish  it  and  take  the  blame 
on  myself.  Can  you  do  this?" 

"I  will  or  die  in  the  effort,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"All  right.  Take  this  card  at  once  to  Stanton's 
office.  Ask  him  to  send  you  by  boat  to  Aquia — by 
horse  from  there.  Return  here  for  your  papers." 

In  ten  minutes  John  had  dispatched  a  note  to  Betty : 

"DEAREST:  God  saved  me  from  an  act  of  madness.  He 
sent  His  message  through  your  sweet  spirit.  I  am  leav 
ing  for  the  South  on  a  dangerous  mission  for  the  Presi 
dent.  If  I  live  to  return  I  am  all  yours — if  I  die,  I  shall 
still  live  through  eternity  if  only  to  love  you. 

"JOHN/' 

Within  an  hour  he  had  communicated  with  the  com 
mander  of  the  Knights,  his  arrangements  were  com 
plete,  and  he  was  steaming  down  the  river  on  his  peril 
ous  journey. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

MR.   DAVIS   SPEAKS 

John  Vaughan  arrived  in  Richmond  a  day  before 
Jaquess  and  Gilmore.  His  genial  Southern  manner, 
his  perfect  accent  and  his  possession  of  the  signs  and 
pass  words  of  the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle  made 
his  mission  a  comparatively  easy  one. 

He  had  brought  a  message  from  the  Washington 
Knights  to  Judah  P.  Benjamin,  which  won  the  con 
fidence  of  Mr.  Davis'  Secretary  of  State  and  gained 
his  ready  consent  to  his  presence  on  the  occasion  of 
the  interview. 

The  Commissioners  left  Butler's  headquarters  with 
some  misgivings.  Gilmore  took  the  doughty  General 
by  the  hand  and  said :  "Good-bye,  if  you  don't  see  us 
in  ten  days  you  may  know  we  have  'gone  up.'  " 

"If  I  don't  see  you  in  less  time,"  he  replied,  "I'll 
demand  you,  and  if  they  don't  produce  you,  I'll  take 
two  for  one.  My  hand  on  that." 

Under  a  flag  of  truce  they  found  Judge  Ould,  the 
Exchange  Commissioner,  who  conducted  them  into 
Richmond  under  cover  of  darkness. 

They  stopped  at  the  Spottswood  House  and  the  next 
morning  saw  Mr.  Benjamin,  who  agreed  to  arrange 
an  interview  with  Jefferson  Davis. 

Mr.  Benjamin  was  polite,  but  inquisitive. 
519 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Do  you  bring  any  overtures  from  your  Govern 
ment,  gentlemen?" 

"No,  sir,"  answered  Colonel  Jaquess.  "We  bring 
no  overtures  and  have  no  authority  from  our  Govern- 
ment.  As  private  citizens  we  simply  wish  to  know 
»  what  terms  will  be  acceptable  to  Mr.  Davis." 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Lincoln's  views?" 

"One  of  us  is  fully,"  said  Colonel  Jaquess. 

"Did  Mr.  Lincoln  in  any  way  authorize  you  to  come 
here?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Gilmore.  "We  came  with  his  pass, 
but  not  by  his  request.  We  came  as  men  and  Chris 
tians,  not  as  diplomats,  hoping,  in  a  frank  talk  with 
Mr.  Davis,  to  discover  some  way  by  which  this  war 
may  be  stopped." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Benjamin,  "I  will  repeat 
what  you  say  to  the  President,  and  if  he  follows  my 
advice,  he  will  meet  you." 

At  nine  o'clock  the  two  men  had  entered  the  State 
Department  and  found  Jefferson  Davis  seated  at  the 
long  table  on  the  right  of  his  Secretary  of  State. 

John  Vaughan  was  given  a  seat  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table  to  report  the  interview  for  Mr.  Benjamin. 

He  studied  the  distinguished  President  of  the  Con 
federate  States  with  interest.  He  had  never  seen  him 
before.  His  figure  was  extremely  thin,  his  features 
typically  Southern  in  their  angular  cheeks  and  high 
cheek  bones.  His  iron-grey  hair  was  long  and  thick 
and  inclined  to  curl  at  the  ends.  His  whiskers  were 
small  and  trimmed  farmer  fashion — on  the  lower  end 
of  his  strong  chin.  The  clear  grey  eyes  were  full  of 
vitality.  His  broad  forehead,  strong  mouth  and  chin 
denoted  an  iron  will.  He  wore  a  suit  of  greyish  brown, 

520 


MR.   DAVIS   SPEAKS 


of  foreign  manufacture,  and  as  he  rose,  seemed  about 
five  feet  ten  inches.  His  shoulders  slightly  stooped. 

His  manner  was  easy  and  graceful,  his  voice  cultured 
and  charming. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "You 
are  very  welcome  to  Richmond." 

"We  thank  you,  Mr.  Davis,"  Gilmore  replied. 

"Mr.  Benjamin  tells  me  that  you  have  asked  to 
see  me  to " 

He  paused  that  the  visitors  might  finish  the  sentence. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Jaquess  answered.  "Our  people  want 
peace,  your  people  do.  We  have  come  to  ask  how  it 
may  be  brought  about?" 

"Withdraw  your  armies,  let  us  alone  and  peace  will 
come  at  once." 

"But  we  cannot  let  you  alone  so  long  as  you  re 
pudiate  the  Union " 

"I  know.  You  would  deny  us  what  you  exact  for 
yourselves — the  right  of  self-government." 

"Even  so,"  said  Colonel  Jaquess,  "we  can  not  fight 
forever.  The  war  must  end  sometime.  We  must  finally 
agree  on  something.  Can  we  not  agree  now  and  stop 
this  frightful  carnage?" 

"I  wish  peace  as  much  as  you  do,"  replied  Mr. 
Davis.  "I  deplore  bloodshed.  But  I  feel  that  not  one 
drop  of  this  blood  is  on  my  hands.  I  can  look  up  to 
God  and  say  this.  I  tried  all  in  my  power  to  avert 
this  war.  I  saw  it  coming  and  for  twelve  years  I 
worked  day  and  night  to  prevent  it.  The  North  was 
mad  and  blind,  and  would  not  let  us  govern  ourselves 
and  now  it  must  go  on  until  the  last  man  of  this  gen 
eration  falls  in  his  tracks  and  his  children  seize  his 
musket  and  fight  our  battle,  unless  you  acknowledge 

521 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


our  right  to  self-government.  We  are  not  fighting 
for  slavery.  We  are  fighting  for  independence,  and 
that  or  extermination  we  will  have." 

"We  have  no  wish  to  exterminate  you,"  protested 
the  Colonel.  "But  we  must  crush  your  armies.  Is  it 
not  already  nearly  done?  Grant  has  shut  you  up  in 
Richmond.  Sherman  is  before  Atlanta." 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand  the  situation,"  Mr. 
Davis  laughed.  "We're  not  exactly  shut  up  in  Rich 
mond  yet.  If  your  papers  tell  the  truth  it  is  your 
Capital  that  is  in  danger,  not  ours.  Lee,  whose  front 
has  never  been  broken,  holds  Grant  in  check  and  has 
men  enough  to  spare  to  invade  Maryland  and  Pennsyl 
vania  and  threaten  Washington.  Sherman,  to  be  sure, 
is  before  Atlanta.  But  suppose  he  is,  the  further  he 
goes  from  his  base  of  supplies,  the  more  disastrous 
defeat  must  be.  And  defeat  may  come." 

"But  you  cannot  expect,"  Gilmore  said,  "with  only 
four  and  one  half  millions  to  hold  out  forever  against 
twenty?" 

Mr.  Davis  smiled: 

"Do  you  think  there  are  twenty  millions  at  the 
North  determined  to  crush  us?  I  do  not  so  read  the 
returns  of  your  elections  or  the  temper  of  your 
people." 

"If  I  understand  you,  then,"  Jaquess  continued, 
"the  dispute  with  your  government  is  narrowed  to 
this,  union  or  disunion?" 

"Or,  in  other  words,  independence  or  subjugation. 
We  will  be  free.  We  will  govern  ourselves.  We  will 
do  it  if  we  have  to  see  every  Southern  plantation  sacked 
and  every  Southern  city  in  flames." 

The  visitors  rose,  and  after  a  few  pleasant  remarks, 
522 


MR.    DAVIS   SPEAKS 


took  their  leave.  Mr.  Davis  was  particularly  cordial 
to  Colonel  Jaquess,  whom  he  knew  to  have  been  a 
clergyman. 

John  was  surprised  to  see  him  repeat  the  habit  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  of  taking  the  hand  of  his  visitor 
in  both  his  in  exactly  the  same  cordial  way. 

He  had  forgotten  for  the  moment  that  both  Lincoln 
and  Davis  were  Southerners,  born  in  the  same  State 
and  reared  in  precisely  the  same  school  of  thought  and 
social  usage. 

"Colonel,"  the  thin  Southerner  said  in  his  musical 
voice,  "I  respect  your  character  and  your  motives  and 
I  wish  you  well — every  good  wish  possible  consistent 
with  the  interests  of  the  Confederacy." 

As  they  were  passing  through  the  door,  he  added: 

"Say  to  Mr.  Lincoln  that  I  shall  at  any  time  be 
pleased  to  receive  proposals  for  peace  on  the  basis  of 
our  independence.  It  will  be  useless  to  approach  me 
with  any  other." 

Next  morning  the  visitors  waited  in  vain  for  the  ap 
pearance  of  Judge  Ould  to  convey  them  once  more  into 
the  Union  lines.  Visions  of  a  long  term  in  prison, 
to  say  nothing  of  a  possible  hangman's  noose,  be 
gan  to  float  before  their  excited  fancy.  They  had 
expected  the  Judge  at  eight  o'clock.  It  was  three 
in  the  afternoon  when  he  entered  with  the  laconic  re 
mark: 

"Well,  gentlemen,  if  you  are  ready,  we'll  walk  around 
to  Libby  Prison." 

Certain  of  their  doom,  the  two  men  rose  and  spoke 
in  concert: 

"We  are  ready." 

They  followed  the  Judge  downstairs  and  found  the 
523 


THE  SOUTHERNER 


same  coal  black  driver  with  the  rickety  team  that  had 
brought  them  into  Richmond. 

Gilmore  smiled  into  the  Judge's  face: 

"Why  were  you  so  long  coming?" 

Ould  hesitated  and  laughed: 

"I'll  tell  you  when  the  war's  over.  Now  I'll  take 
you  through  the  Libby  and  the  hospitals,  if  you'd  like 
to  go." 

When  they  had  visited  the  prison  and  hospitals,  Gil- 
more  again  turned  to  the  Judge: 

"Now,  explain  to  us,  please,  your  delay  this  morn 
ing — we're  curious." 

Ould  smiled: 

"I  suppose  I'd  as  well  tell  you.  When  I  called  on 
Mr.  Davis  for  your  permit,  Mr.  Benjamin  was  there 
impressing  on  the  President  of  the  Confederate  States 
the  absolute  necessity  of  placing  you  two  gentlemen  in 
Castle  Thunder  until  the  Northern  elections  are  over. 
Mr.  Benjamin  is  a  very  eloquent  advocate,  and  Mr. 
Davis  hesitated.  I  took  issue  with  the  Secretary  of 
State  and  we  had  a  very  exciting  argument.  The 
President  finally  reserved  decision  until  two  o'clock  and 
asked  me  to  call  and  get  it.  He  handed  me  your  pass 
with  this  remark: 

"It's  probably  a  bad  business  for  us,  but  it  would 
alienate  many  of  our  Northern  friends  if  we  should  hold 
on  to  these  gentlemen." 

In  two  hours  the  visitors  had  reached  the  Union 
lines,  John  Vaughan  had  obtained  his  passes  and  was 
on  his  way  to  Atlanta. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE    STOLEN    MARCH 

John  Vaughan's  entrance  into  Atlanta  was  simple. 
His  credentials  from  Richmond  were  perfect.  His 
exit  proved  to  be  a  supreme  test  of  his  nerve. 

The  two  lines  of  siege  and  battle  stretched  in  wide 
semicircle  for  miles  over  the  ragged  wood  tangled 
hills  about  the  little  Gate  City  of  the  South. 

Sherman  had  fought  his  way  from  Chattanooga  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  since  May  with  consummate 
skill.  His  march  had  been  practically  a  continuous 
series  of  battles,  and  yet  his  losses  had  been  small  com 
pared  to  General  Grant's.  In  killed,  wounded  and  pris 
oners  he  had  only  lost  thirty-two  thousand  men  in  four 
months.  The  Confederate  losses  had  been  greater — at 
least  thirty-five  thousand. 

Hood,  the  new  Southern  Commander,  had  given  him 
battle  a  month  before  and  suffered  an  overwhelming 
defeat,  losing  eight  thousand  men,  Sherman  but  thirty- 
seven  hundred.  The  Confederate  forces  had  retired  be 
hind  the  impregnable  fortifications  of  Atlanta  and 
Sherman  lay  behind  his  trenches  watching  in  grim 
silence. 

The  pickets  at  many  places  were  so  close  together 
they  could  talk.  John  Vaughan  attempted  to  slip 
through  at  night  while  they  were  chaffing  one  another. 

He  lay  for  an  hour  in  the  woods  near  the  Southern 
525 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


picket  line  watching  his  chance.    The  men  were  talking 
continuously. 

"Why  the  devil  don't  you  all  fight?"  a  grey  man 
called. 

"Uncle  Billy  says  it's  cheaper  to  flank  you  and  make 
you  Johnnies  run  to  catch  up  with  us." 

"Yes — damn  you,  and  we've  got  ye  now  where  ye 
can't  do  no  more  flankin'.  Ye  got  ter  fight!" 

"Trust  Uncle  Billy  for  that  when  the  time 
comes " 

"Yes,  and  we've  got  Billy  Sherman  whar  we  want 
him  now.  We're  goin'  to  blow  up  every  bridge  behind 
ye  and  ye'll  never  see  home  no  more " 

"Uncle  Billy's  got  duplicates  of  all  your  bridges 
fast  as  ye  blow  'em  up." 

"All  right,  we're  goin'  ter  blow  up  the  tunnels 
through  the  mountains " 

"That's  nothin' — we  got  duplicates  to  all  the  tun 
nels,  too!" 

John  Vaughan  began  to  creep  toward  the  Federal 
lines  and  muskets  blazed  from  both  sides.  He  dropped 
flat  on  the  ground  and  it  took  two  hours  to  crawl  Co 
a  place  of  safety. 

He  felt  these  lines  next  morning  where  they  were 
wider  apart  and  found  them  too  dangerous  to  attempt. 
The  pickets,  at  the  point  he  approached,  were  in  an 
ugly  mood  and  a  desultory  fire  was  kept  up  all  day. 
The  men  had  bunched  up  two  together  and  entrenched 
themselves,  keeping  a  deadly  watch  for  the  men  in 
blue.  He  stood  for  half  an  hour  close  enough  to  see 
every  movement  of  two  young  pickets  who  evidently 
had  some  score  to  pay  and  were  hunting  for  their  foe 
with  quiet,  deadly  purpose. 

526 


THE   STOLEN   MARCH 


"There's  a  Yank  behind  that  clump,"  said  one. 

"Na — nothin'  but  a  huckleberry  bush,"  the  other 
replied. 

"Yes  there  is,  too.  We'll  decoy  and  pot  him.  I'll 
get  ready  now  and  you  raise  your  cap  on  a  ramrod 
above  the  hole.  He'll  lift  kis  head  to  fire  and  I'll  get 
him." 

The  speaker  cautiously  slipped  his  musket  in  place 
and  drew  a  bead  on  the  spot.  His  partner  placed  his 
hat  on  his  ramrod  and  slowly  lifted  it  a  foot  above  their 
hiding  place. 

The  hat  had  scarcely  cleared  the  pile  of  dirt  before 
the  musket  flashed. 

"I  got  him!     I  told  you  he  was  there!" 

John  turned  from  the  scene  with  a  sense  of  sickening 
horror.  He  would  die  for  his  country,  but  he  hoped 
be  would  not  be  called  on  to  kill  again. 

He  made  a  wide  detour  and  attempted  to  cross  the 
lines  five  miles  further  from  the  city  and  walked  sud 
denly  into  a  squad  of  grey  soldiers  in  command  of  a 
lieutenant. 

The  officer  eyed  him  with  suspicion. 

"What's  your  business  here,  sir?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Looking  over  the  lines,"  John  replied  casually. 

"So  I  see.  That's  why  I  asked  you.  Show  your 
pass." 

"Why,  I  haven't  one." 

"I  thought  not.  You're  a  damned  spy  and  you'd 
just  as  well  say  your  prayers.  I'm  going  to  hang 
you." 

The  men  pressed  near.  Among  them  was  a  second 
lieutenant,  a  big,  strapping,  quiet-looking  fellow. 

"You've  made  a  mistake,  gentlemen,"  John  protested. 
527 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"I'm  a  newspaper  man  from  Atlanta.     The  chief  sent 
me  out  to  look  over  the  lines  and  report." 

"It's  a  lie.  We've  forbidden  every  paper  in  town  to 
dare  such  a  thing " 

John  smiled: 

"That's  just  why  my  office  sent  me,  I  reckon." 

"Well,  he  sent  you  once  too  often " 

He  turned  to  his  orderly: 

"Get  me  a  bridle  rein  off  my  horse." 

In  vain  John  protested.  The  Commander  shook  his 
head: 

"It's  no  use  talking.  You've  passed  the  deadline  here 
to-day.  This  is  a  favorite  spot  for  scouts  to  cross. 
I'm  not  going  to  take  any  chances ;  I'm  going  to  hang 
you." 

"Why  don't  you  search  me  first?" 

He  was  sure  that  his  dangerous  message  was  so  skill 
fully  sewed  in  the  soles  of  his  shoes  they  would  not  be 
discovered. 

"I  can  search  you  afterwards,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

He  quickly  tied  the  leather  strap  around  his  neck 
and  threw  the  end  of  it  over  a  limb.  The  touch  of 
his  hand  and  the  rough  way  in  which  he  had  tied 
the  leather  stirred  John  Vaughan's  rage  to  boiling 
point.  All  sense  of  danger  was  lost  for  the  moment 
in  blind  anger.  He  turned  suddenly  and  faced  his 
executioner : 

"This  is  a  damned  outrage,  sir!  Even  a  spy  is  en 
titled  to  a  trial  by  drumhead  court-martial!" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  say,"  the  big,  quiet  fellow  broke 
in. 

"I'm  in  command  of  this  squad !"  thundered  the  lieu 
tenant. 

528 


THE   STOLEN  MARCH 


"I  know  you  are,"  was  the  cool  answer,  "that's  why 
this  outrage  is  going  to  be  committed." 

The  executioner  dropped  the  rein  and  faced  his 
subordinate : 

"You're  going  to  question  my  authority?" 

"I've  already  done  it,  haven't  I?" 

A  quick  blow  followed.  The  quiet  man,  in  response, 
knocked  his  commander  down  and  the  men  sprang  on 
them  as  they  drew  their  revolvers. 

John  Vaughan,  with  a  sudden  leap,  reached  the  dense 
woods  and  in  five  minutes  was  inside  Sherman's  lines. 

The  bridle  rein  was  still  around  his  neck  and  the  blue 
picket  helped  him  untie  the  ugly  knot. 

"I've  had  a  close  call,"  he  panted,  with  a  glance  to 
ward  the  woods. 

"You  look  it,  partner.  You'll  be  wantin'  to  see 
General  Sherman,  I  guess?" 

"Yes — to  headquarters  quick — you  can't  get  there 
too  quick  to  suit  me." 

He  had  recovered  his  composure  before  reaching  the 
farm  house  where  General  Sherman  and  his  staff  were 
quartered. 

The  day  was  one  of  terrific  heat — the  first  of  Sep 
tember.  The  President's  description  of  the  famous 
fighter  and  the  tremendous  responsibility  which  was 
now  being  placed  on  his  shoulders  had  roused  John's 
curiosity  to  the  highest  pitch. 

The  General  was  seated  in  an  arm  chair  in  the  yard 
under  a  great  oak.  His  coat  was  unbuttoned  and  he 
had  tilted  back  against  the  tree  in  a  comfortable  posi 
tion  reading  a  newspaper.  His  black  slouch  hat  was 
pulled  far  down  over  his  face. 

John  saluted: 

529 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"This  is  General  Sherman?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  quick,  pleasant  answer  as  the  tall, 
gaunt  form  slowly  rose. 

John  noted  his  striking  and  powerful  personality — 
the  large  frame,  restless  hazel  eyes,  fine  aquiline  nose, 
bronzed  features  and  cropped  beard.  His  every  move 
ment  was  instinct  with  the  power  of  perfect  physical 
manhood,  forty-four  years  old,  the  incarnation  of 
health  and  wiry  strength. 

"I  come  from  Washington,  General,"  John  con 
tinued,  "and  bear  a  special  message  from  the  Presi 
dent." 

"From  the  President !     Oh,  come  inside  then." 

The  tall  figure  moved  with  quick,  nervous  energy.  In 
ten  minutes  couriers  were  dashing  from  his  headquar 
ters  in  every  direction. 

At  one  o'clock  that  night  the  big  movement  of  his 
withdrawal  from  the  siege  lines  began.  He  had  no 
intention  of  hurling  his  men  against  those  deadly 
trenches.  He  believed  that  with  a  sure,  swift  start 
undiscovered  by  the  Confederates  he  could  by  a  single 
battle  turn  their  lines  at  Jonesboro,  destroy  the  rail 
road  and  force  General  Hood  to  evacuate  Atlanta. 

His  sleeping  men  were  carefully  waked.  Not  a  single 
note  from  bugle  or  drum  sounded.  The  wheels  of  the 
artillery  and  wagons  were  wrapped  with  cloth  and 
every  sound  muffled. 

Through  pitch  darkness  in  dead  silence  the  men 
were  swung  into  marching  lines.  The  moving  columns 
could  be  felt  but  not  seen.  Each  soldier  followed 
blindly  the  man  before.  Somewhere  in  the  black  night 
there  must  be  a  leader — God  knew — they  didn't.  They 
walked  by  faith.  The  wet  grounds,  soaked  by  recent 

530 


THE   STOLEN  MARCH 


rains,  made  their  exit  easier.  The  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs  and  tramping  thousands  could  scarcely  be 
heard. 

The  ranks  were  strung  out  in  long,  ragged  lines, 
each  man  going  as  he  pleased.  Something  blocked  the 
way  ahead  and  the  columns  butted  into  one  another 
and  pinched  the  heels  of  the  men  in  front. 

In  their  anger  the  fellows  smarting  with  pain  forgot 
the  orders  for  silence.  A  storm  of  low  muttering  and 
growling  rumbled  through  the  darkness. 

"What  'ell  here !" 

"What's  the  matter  with  you " 

"Keep  off  my  heels !" 

"What  'ell  are  ye  runnin'  over  me  for?" 

"Hold  up  your  damned  gun " 

"Keep  it  out  of  my  eye,  won't  you?" 

"Damn  your  eye !" 

They  start  again  and  run  into  a  bog  of  mud  knee 
deep  cut  into  mush  by  the  artillery  and  wagons  which 
•have  passed  on. 

The  first  men  in  line  were  in  to  their  knees  and  stuck 
fast  before  they  could  stop  the  lines  surging  on  in  the 
dark.  They  collide  with  the  bogged  ones  and  fall  over 
them.  The  ranks  behind  stumble  in  on  top  of  the  fallen 
before  word  can  be  passed  to  halt. 

The  night  reeks  with  oaths.  The  patient  heavens 
reverberate  with  them.  The  mud-soaked  soldiers 
damned  with  equal  unction  all  things  visible  and  in 
visible  on  the  earth,  under  it  and  above  it.  They 
cursed  the  United  States  of  America  and  they  damned 
the  Confederate  States  with  equal  emphasis  and  wished 
them  both  at  the  bottom  of  the  lowest  depths  of  the 
deepest  pit  of  perdition. 

531 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


As  one  fellow  blew  the  mud  from  his  mouth  and  nose 
he  bawled: 

"I  wish  Sherman  and  Hood  were  both  in  hell  this 
minute!" 

"Yes,  and  fightin'  it  out  to  suit  themselves!"  his 
comrade  answered. 

On  through  the  black  night  the  long  blue  lines  crept 
under  lowering  skies  toward  their  foe,  the  stern  face 
of  William  Tecumseh  Sherman  grimly  set  on  his  des 
perate  purpose. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

VICTORY 

Betty  had   found  the  President  at  the  War  Tele 
graph  office  in  the  old  Army  and  Navy  building.     He 
was  seated  at  the  desk  by  the  window  where  in  1862  he  9 
had  written  his  first  draft  of  his  Emancipation  Procla 
mation  on  pieces  of  pasteboard. 

"You  have  heard  nothing  yet  from  General  Sher 
man?"  she  asked  pathetically. 

"Nothing,  child." 

"And  no  message  of  any  kind  from  John  Vaughan 
since  he  left !"  she  exclaimed  hopelessly. 

"But  I'm  sure,  remember,  sure  to  a  moral  certainty 
— that  he  reached  Richmond  safely  and  left  there 
safely." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Gilmore  has  just  arrived  with  hi-s  reply  from  Jef 
ferson  Davis.  It  will  be  worth  a  half  million  votes  for 
us.  From  his  description  of  the  'reporter'  with  Benja 
min  I  am  sure  it  was  our  messenger." 

"But  you  don't  know — you  don't  know!"  Betty 
sighed. 

The  President  bent  and  touched  her  shoulder  gently : 

"Come,  dear,  it's  not  like  you  to  despair " 

The  girl  smiled  wanly. 

"How  long  since  any  message  arrived  from  General 
Sherman?" 

533 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Three  days,  my  child.  I  know  the  hole  he  went  in 
at,  but  I  can't  tell  where  he's  going  to  come  out " 

"If  he  ever  comes  out,"  Betty  broke  in  bitterly. 

"Oh,  he'll  come  out  somewhere!"  the  President 
laughed.  "It's  a  habit  of  his.  I've  watched  him  for 
months — sometimes  I  can't  hear  from  him  for  a  week 
— but  he  always  bobs  up  again  and  comes  out  with  a 
whoop,  too " 

"But  we've  no  news!"  she  interrupted. 

"No  news  has  always  been  good  news  from  Sher 
man " 

He  paused  and  looked  at  his  watch : 
"Wait  here.  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  moments.  We're 
bound  to  hear  something  to-day.  I've  an  engagement 
with  my  Committee  of  Undertakers.  They  are  waiting 
for  me  to  deliver  my  corpse  to  them — and  they  are  very 
restless  about  it  because  I  haven't  given  up  sooner. 
I'm  full  of  foolish  hopes.  I'm  going  to  adjourn  them 
until  we  can  get  a  message  of  some  kind " 

He  returned  in  half  an  hour  and  sat  in  silence  for  a 
long  time  listening  to  the  steady,  sharp  click  of  the 
telegraph  keys. 

Betty  was  too  blue  to  talk — too  heartsick  to  move. 

At  last  the  tall  figure  rose  and  walked  back  among 
the  operators.  They  knew  that  he  was  waiting  for  the 
magic  call,  "Atlanta,  Georgia."  It  had  been  three 
years  and  more  since  that  heading  for  a  message  had 
flashed  over  their  wires.  Every  ear  was  keen  to  catch 
it. 

The  President  bent  over  the  table  of  Southern  wires 
and  silently  watched: 

"You  can't  strain  a  little  message  through  for  me, 
can  you,  my  boy?" 

534 


VICTORY 


The  operator  smiled: 

"I  wish  I  could,  sir." 

The  President  returned  to  the  front  room  and  shook 
his  head  to  Betty: 

"Nothing." 

"He  entered  Atlanta  a  spy,  didn't  he?"  she  said 
despairingly. 

"Yes — of  course." 

"They  couldn't  execute  him  without  our  knowing  it, 
could  they?" 

"If  they  trap  him — yes — but  he's  a  very  intelligent 
young  man.  He'll  be  too  smart  for  them.  I  feel  it. 
I  know  it " 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  her  quizzically: 

"I've  a  sort  of  second  sight  that  tells  me  such  things. 
I  saw  General  Sickles  in  the  hospital  after  Gettys 
burg.  They  said  he  couldn't  live.  I  told  him  he  would 
get  well  and  he  did." 

Again  the  President  returned  restlessly  to  the  oper 
ator's  room  and  Betty  followed  him  to  the  door.  He 
waited  a  long  time  in  silence,  shook  his  head  and  turned 
away.  He  had  almost  reached  the  door  when  sud 
denly  the  operator  sprang  to  his  feet  livid  with  excite 
ment  : 

"Wait — Mr.  President! — It's  come — my  God,  it's 
here !" 

Every  operator  was  on  his  feet  listening  in  breath 
less  excitement  to  the  click  of  that  Southern  wire. 

The  President  had  rushed  back  to  the  table. 

"It's  for  you,  sir !" 

"Read  it  then — out  with  it  as  you  take  it !"  he  cried. 

"Atlanta,  Georgia,  September  3rd,   1864." 

"Glory  to  God !"  the  President  shouted. 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


"Atlanta  is  ours  and  fairly  won.     W.  T.  Sherman." 
"O  my  soul,  lift  up  thy  head!"  the  sorrowful  lips 

shouted.     "Unto  thee,  O  God,  we  give  all  the  praise 

now  and  forever  more!" 

He  seated  himself  and  quickly  wrote  his  thanks  and 

congratulations : 

"EXECUTIVE   MANSION, 

"WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 
"September  3,  1864. 

"The  National  thanks  are  rendered  by  the  President  to 
Major  General  W.  T.  Sherman  and  the  gallant  officers 
and  soldiers  of  his  command  before  Atlanta,  for  the  dis 
tinguished  ability  and  perseverance  displayed  in  the  cam 
paign  in  Georgia,  which  under  Divine  favor  has  resulted 
in  the  capture  of  Atlanta.  The  inarches,  battles  and 
sieges  that  have  signalized  this  campaign  must  render  it 
famous  in  the  arnnals  of  war,  and  have  entitled  you  to  the 
applause  and  thanks  of  the  Nation. 

"ABRAHAM  LINCOLN, 
"President  of  the  United  States." 

His  sombre  eyes  flamed  with  a  new  light.  He  took 
the  copy  of  his  message  from  Sherman  and  started  to 
the  White  House  with  long,  swift  strides. 

Betty  greeted  him  outside  with  tearful  joy  still 
mixed  with  deep  anxiety. 

"You  have  no  word  from  him,  of  course?" 

"Not  yet,  child,  but  it  will  come — cheer  up — it's 
sure  to  come.  You  see  that  he  reached  Atlanta  and 
delivered  my  message!" 

"We  are  not  sure.  The  city  may  have  fallen,  any 
how " 

"Yes,  yes,  but  it  didn't  just  fall,  anyhow.     Sherman 

536 


VICTORY 


took  it.    He  got  my  message.    I  know  it.    I  felt  it  flash 
through  the  air  from  his  soul  to  mine!" 

His  faith  and  enthusiasm  were  contagious  and  Betty 
returned  home  with  new  hope. 

In  half  an  hour  the  Committee  who  were  waiting 
for  his  resignation  from  the  National  Republican  ticket 
filed  into  his  office  to  receive  as  they  supposed  his  final 
surrender. 

The  Chairman  rose  with  doleful  countenance: 

"Since  leaving  you,  Mr.  President,  we  have  just 
heard  a  most  painful  and  startling  announcement  from 
the  War  Department.  We  begged  you  to  withhold  the 
new  draft  for  five  hundred  thousand  men  until  after  the 
election.  Halleck  informs  us  of  the  discovery  of  a 
great  combination  to  resist  it  by  armed  force  and  Gen 
eral  Grant  must  detach  a  part  of  his  army  from  Lee's 
front  in  order  to  put  down  this  counter  revolution. 
This  is  the  blackest  news  yet.  We  trust  that  you  realize 
the  impossibility  of  your  administration  asking  for  in 
dorsement  at  the  polls " 

With  a  sign  of  final  resignation  he  sat  down  and  the 
tall,  dark  figure  rose  with  quick,  nervous  energy. 

"I,  too,  have  received  important  news  since  I  saw 
you  an  hour  ago." 

He  held  the  telegram  above  his  head: 

"I'll  read  it  to  you  without  my  glasses.  I  know  it 
by  heart.  I  have  just  learned  that  my  administration 
will  be  indorsed  by  an  overwhelming  majority,  that  the 
defeat  of  George  B.  McClellan  and  his  platform  of  fail 
ure  is  a  certainty.  The  war  to  preserve  the  Union  is  ». 
a  success.  The  sword  has  been  driven  into  the  heart  of 
the  Confederacy.  Sherman  has  captured  Atlanta — 
the  Union  is  saved!" 

537 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


The  Committee  leaped  to  their  feet  with  a  shout 
of  applause  and  crowded  around  him  to  congratulate 
and  praise  the  man  they  came  to  bury.  There  was 
no  longer  a  question  of  his  resignation.  The  fall  of 
Atlanta  would  thrill  the  North.  A  wave  of  wild  en 
thusiasm  would  sweep  into  the  sea  the  last  trace  of 
gloom  and  despair.  They  were  practical  men — else,  as 
rats,  they  would  never  have  tried  to  desert  their  own 
ship.  They  knew  that  the  tide  was  going  to  turn,  but 
it  was  a  swift  tide  that  could  turn  before  they  could ! 

They  wrung  the  President's  hands,  they  shouted  his 
praise,  they  had  always  gloried  in  his  administration, 
but  foolish  grumblers  hadn't  been  able  to  see  things  as 
they  saw  them — hence  this  hue  and  cry!  They  con 
gratulated  him  on  his  certain  triumph  and  the  Presi 
dent  watched  them  go  with  a  quiet  smile.  He  was  too 
big  to  cherish  resentments.  He  only  pitied  small  men, 
he  never  hated  them. 


CHAPTER    XL 

WITH    MALICE    TOWARD    NONE 

General  Grant  fired  a  salute  in  honor  of  the  Atlanta 
victory  with  shotted  guns  from  every  battery  on  his 
siege  lines  of  thirty-seven  miles  before  Richmond  and 
Petersburg.  To  Sherman  he  sent  a  remarkable  mes 
sage — the  kind  which  great  men  know  how  to  pen : 

"You  have  accomplished  the  most  gigantic  under 
taking  given  to  any  General  in  this  war,  with  a  skill 
and  ability  which  will  be  acknowledged  in  history  as 
unsurpassed  if  not  unequaled." 

From  the  depths  of  despair  the  North  swung  to  the 
wildest  enthusiasm  and  in  the  election  which  followed 
Abraham  Lincoln  was  swept  into  power  again  on  a 
tidal  wave.  He  received  in  round  numbers  two  mil 
lion  five  hundred  thousand  votes,  McClellan  two  mil 
lions.  His  majority  by  States  in  the  electoral  college 
was  overwhelming — two  hundred  and  twelve  to  his  op 
ponent's  twenty-one. 

The  closing  words  of  his  second  Inaugural  rang 
clear  and  quivering  with  emotion  over  the  vast  crowd : 

"With  malice  toward  none ;  with  charity  for  all ;  with 
firmness  in  the  right,  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right, 
let  us  strive  on  to  finish  the  work  we  are  in;  to  bind 
up  the  nation's  wounds ;  to  care  for  him  who  shall  have 
borne  the  battle,  and  for  his  widow  and  his  orphan — 
to  do  all  which  may  achieve  and  cherish  a  just  and 
lasting  peace  among  ourselves  and  with  all  nations."  * 

539 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


As  the  last  echo  died  away  among  the  marble  pil 
lars  above,  the  sun  burst  through  the  clouds  and  flooded 
the  scene.  A  mighty  cheer  swept  the  throng  and  the 
guns  boomed  their  second  salute.  The  war  was  clos 
ing  in  lasting  peace  and  the  sun  shining  on  the  finished 
-ydome  of  the  Capitol  of  a  new  nation. 

Betty  Winter,  leaning  on  John  Vaughan's  arm,  was 
among  the  first  to  grasp  his  big,  outstretched  hand : 

"A  glorious  day  for  us,  sir,"  she  cried,  "a  proud  one 
for  you!" 

With  a  far-away  look  the  President  slowly  answered: 

"And  all  that  I  am  in  this  world,  Miss  Betty,  I  owe 
^  to  a  woman — my  angel  mother — blessings  on  her  mem 
ory!" 

"I  trust  her  spirit  heard  that  beautiful  speech,"  the 
girl  responded  tenderly. 

She  paused,  looked  up  at  John,  blushed  and  added: 

"We    are    to    be    married    next    week,    Mr.    Presi- 
'   dent " 

"Is  it  so?"  he  said  joyfully.  "I  wish  I  could  be 
there,  my  children — but  I'm  afraid  'Old  Grizzly'  might 
bite  me.  So  I'll  say  it  now — God  bless  you !" 

He  took  their  hands  in  his  and  pressed  them  heart 
ily.  His  eyes  suddenly  rested  on  a  shining  black  face 
grinning  behind  John  Vaughan. 

"My,  my,  can  this  be  Julius  Caesar  Thornton?"  he 
laughed. 

"Yassah,"  the  black  man  grinned.     "Hit's  me — ole 
reliable,  sah,  right  here — I'se  gwine  ter  cook  fur  'em !" 
******* 

From  the  moment  of  Abraham  Lincoln's  election  the 
.*  end  of  the  war  with  a  restored  Union  was  a  foregone 
conclusion. 

540 


WITH   MALICE    TOWARD   NONE 

In  the  fall  of  Atlanta  the  heart  of  the  Confederacy 
was  pierced,  and  it  ceased  to  beat.  Lee's  army,  cut  off 
from  their  supplies,  slowly  but  surely  began  to  starve 
behind  their  impregnable  breastworks.  Sherman's 
march  to  the  sea  and  through  the  Carolinas  was  merely 
a  torchlight  parade.  The  fighting  was  done. 

When  Lee's  emaciated  men,  living  on  a  handful  of 
parched  corn  a  day,  staggered  out  of  their  trenches  in 
the  spring  and  tried  to  join  Johnston's  army  they 
marched  a  few  miles  to  Appomattox,  dropping  from 
exhaustion,  and  surrendered. 

When  the  news  of  this  tremendous  event  reached 
Washington,  the  Cabinet  was  in  session.  Led  by  the 
President,  in  silence  and  tears,  they  fell  on  their  knees 
in  a  prayer  of  solemn  thanks  to  Almighty  God. 

General  Grant  won  the  gratitude  of  the  South  by  his 
generous  treatment  of  Lee  and  his  ragged  men.  He 
had  received  instructions  from  the  loving  heart  in  the 
White  House. 

Long  before  the  surrender  in  April,  1865,  the  end 
was  sure.  The  President  knowing  this,  proposed  to 
his  Cabinet  to  give  the  South  four  hundred  millions  of 
dollars,  the  cost  of  the  war  for  a  hundred  days,  in  pay 
ment  for  their  slaves,  if  they  would  lay  down  their  arms 
at  once.  His  ministers  unanimously  voted  against  his 
offer  and  he  sadly  withdrew  it.  Among  all  his  council 
lors  there  was  not  one  whose  soul  was  big  enough  to 
understand  the  far-seeing  wisdom  of  his  generous  plan. 
He  would  heal  at  once  one  of  the  Nation's  ugliest 
wounds  by  soothing  the  bitterness  of  defeat.  He  knew 
that  despair  would  send  the  older  men  of  the  South  to 
their  graves. 

Edmund  Ruffin,  who  had  fired  the  first  shot  against 
541 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


Sumter  and  returned  to  his  Virginia  farm  when  his 
State  seceded,  was  a  type  of  these  ruined,  desperate 
men.  On  the  day  that  Lee  surrendered  he  placed  the 
muzzle  of  his  gun  in  his  mouth,  pulled  the  trigger  with 
his  foot,  and  blew  his  own  head  into  fragments. 

When  Senator  Winter  demanded  proscription  and 
vengeance  against  the  leaders  of  the  Confederacy,  the 
President  shook  his  head: 

"No — let  down  the  bars — let  them  all  go — scare 
them  off!" 

He  threw  up  his  big  hands  in  a  vivid  gesture  as  if  he 
were  shooing  a  flock  of  troublesome  sheep  out  of  his 
garden. 

"Triumphant  now,  you  will  receive  our  enemies  with 
open  arms?"  the  Senator  sneered. 

"Enemies?  There  are  no  such  things.  The  South- 
ern  States  have  never  really  been  out  of  the  Union. 
Their  Acts  of  Secession  were  null  and  void.  They 
know  now  that  the  issue  is  forever  settled.  The  re- 
stored  Union  will  be  a  real  one.  The  Southern  people 
at  heart  are  law-abiding.  It  was  their  reverence  for 
the  letter  of  the  old  law  which  led  them  to  ignore  prog 
ress  and  claim  the  right  to  secede  under  the  Constitu 
tion.  They  will  be  true  to  Lee's  pledge  of  surrender. 
I'm  going  to  trust  them  as  my  brethren.  Let  us  fold 
up  our  banners  now  and  smelt  the  guns —  Love  rules 
— let  her  mightier  purpose  run !" 

So  big  and  generous,  so  broad  and  statesmanlike  was 
his  spirit  that  in  this  hour  of  victory  his  personality 
became  in  a  day  the  soul  of  the  New  Republic.  The 
South  had  already  unconsciously  grown  to  respect  the 
man  who  had  loved  yet  fought  her  for  what  he  be 
lieved  to  be  her  highest  good. 

542 


WITH   MALICE    TOWARD   NONE 

He  was  entering  now  a  new  phase  of  power.  His  in 
fluence  over  the  people  was  supreme.  No  man  or  set  of 
men  in  Congress,  or  outside  of  it,  could  defeat  his  poli 
cies.  Even  through  the  years  of  stunning  defeats  and 
measureless  despair  his  enemies  had  never  successfully 
opposed  a  measure  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart. 

His  first  great  work  accomplished  in  destroying  slav 
ery  and  restoring  the  Union,  there  remained  but  two 
tasks  on  which  his  soul  was  set — to  heal  the  bitterness 
of  the  war  and  remove  the  negro  race  from  physical 
contact  with  the  white. 

He  at  once  addressed  himself  to  this  work  with  en 
thusiasm.  That  he  could  do  it  he  never  doubted  for  a 
moment. 

His  first  care  was  to  remove  the  negro  soldiers  from 
the  country  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  summoned 
General  Butler  and  set  him  to  work  on  his  scheme  to 
use  these  one  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  black  troops 
to  dig  the  Panama  Canal.  He  summoned  Bradley,  the 
Vermont  contractor,  and  put  him  to  work  on  estimates 
for  moving  the  negroes  by  ship  to  Africa  or  by  train  to* 
an  undeveloped  Western  Territory.  , 

His  prophetic  soul  had  pierced  the  future  and  seen 
with  remorseless  logic  that  two  such  races  as  the  Negro 
and  Caucasian  could  not  live  side  by  side  in  a  free  de-* 
mocracy.      The   Radical   theorists    of   Congress   were 
demanding  that  these  black  men,  emerging  from  four 
thousand  years  of  slavery  and  savagery  should  receive 
the   ballot   and   the    right   to    claim   the   white   man's  + 
daughter  in  marriage.      They   could   only  pass   these 
measures  over  the  dead  body  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

The  assassin  came  at  last — a  vain,  foolish  dreamer 
who  had  long  breathed  the  poisoned  air  of  hatred.  It 

543 


THE   SOUTHERNER 


needed  but  the  flash  of  this  madman's  pistol  on  the 
night  of  the  14th  of  April  to  reveal  the  grandeur  of 
Lincoln's  character,  the  marvel  of  his  patience  and  his 
wisdom. 

The  curtains  of  the  box  in  Ford's  theatre  were  softly 
drawn  apart  by  an  unseen  hand.  The  Angel  of  Death 
entered,  paused  at  the  sight  of  the  smile  on  his  rugged, 
kindly  face,  touched  the  drooping  shoulders,  called 
him  to  take  the  place  he  had  won  among  earth's  im- 
*  mortals  and  left  to  us  "  the  gentlest  memory  of  our 
world." 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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^•OAN 


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JAN  1 1  1977 


iEC.  CI8.      MAR  1  A  7r 


VOV  -  4  1977   ^  M 

REC.  CIR..H1L  23    II 


AUTO  DISC 


U: 


JUL 


f\oi/i6 


MAY  05  1990 

APR  17  199C 
CIRCULATION 

l  b  iy93 
AUTO  DISC  C!RC   ft 


IRC  SEPi6'y 


m 


E3  26  '93 


LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


m 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


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